Criminal
by ShunKickShunKers
Summary: Modern AU If you asked her, Natasha would say Steve Rogers was a good man, but his priorities tended to mix up. So when a series of murders concerning a former army strike team arise and Natasha has to partner with her ex-husband to find the killer, she is NOT pleased. Clintasha. rated M to be safe
1. Chapter 1

**Hello everyone! This story was a side project of mine and is nearly finished, so I will be posting one chapter every week-end, say Saturday or Sunday (Also posted on AO3).**

 **Main clintasha and sortof-onesided Romagers. AU fic in modern universe, the investigation kind.**

 **Un-beta-ed work, so all mistakes are mine ^^"**

* * *

 **Criminal**

 **Prologue**

Natasha glared at the smoking cup of coffee on the table. The evening had gone from bad to worst.

First, the case she had been working on for nearly two years had been written off as cold for lack of evidence. Unsolved cases weren't an unknown thing in Chicago, but this one had been the first she had tackled upon arriving into this unit, since her transfer from Florida.

Back then, she was one of those hot-headed twenty-three years old rookie agents eager to prove herself, and a man had been terrifying the town by shooting arrows at seemingly random people. It turned out there had been two archers _(which she had figured out)_ that had different sets of victims as they were profiled as a hired assassin and a vigilante _(which_ she _had also figured out)_. The case had ended with the death of one from the hand of the other, after which the remaining archer had disappeared.

Second, Steve had skipped their meeting. Two years after their divorce, including a whole five months of near harassment, she had finally agreed for dinner and yet he had ditched her. He could have been late from work, but had not even given a phone call to warn her. And when she had resolved _herself_ to give _him_ a call, she had gone straight to the voicemail. Natasha hadn't been all eager to meet with her ex-husband, but he had been such a pain in her ass she had agreed if only to tell him square in the face to stop harassing her before she called a lawsuit.

Not that it would work; no-one wanted to believe that the infamous war hero Steve Rogers, aka Captain America, could be a first-class jerk when he put his mind into it.

Natasha glanced at her watch for the twentieth time that night. Past nine already. She sighed, pulled out a few dollars to pay her drink and headed towards the bar. Her boss had dropped a case she cared about, she had been stranded by Steve…it didn't matter if she got drunk. No-one would stare at her disapprovingly when she got home.

She sat at the bar and ordered a shot of vodka.

The bar was filled enough, she noticed as she glanced around. Having sat at the table for over an hour, she had spent time counting the clients going in, but not getting out. So far, she regrouped about thirty people scattered around in small groups; the college students going out for a beer, a group of women gathering for secret exchanging, some men arguing about something, others playing darts nearby…her gaze settle on the last one.

Three men were holding the darts, while a fourth was aiming. A 'ping' later and the dart hit the second inner circle of the board. Two grimaced while the last one, a short dirty-blond haired guy, smirked and took the current player's place. Within fifteen seconds, three of his five darts were fighting for a spot in the very inner circle. Natasha raised an impressed eyebrow and watched closely as he aimed for a fourth. The dart flew so fast she barely saw it and hit another spot in the middle.

The barman brought her drink. She downed the shot and returned her attention on the game. The fifth dart had just joined the others. The other men groaned and Natasha watched in amusement as they handed a few bills to the obvious winner. Said winner glanced in her direction and winked at her. Natasha raised her empty glass in cheer _(hey, why not_? _)_ and turned around to ask for another.

Barely ten seconds went by before the chair next to hers was pulled back and said winner was taking a seat.

"So, did you enjoy the show?"

She turned around and faced the newcomer. He wasn't quite handsome, but his intense blue eyes –or were they grey? green? there were definite hints of gold in the corner –gave him an intriguing aura. Natasha pegged him in his mid-to-late thirties, a solid ten years older than her. He wore a dark shirt with short sleeve, tight around his arms, and he looked quite in shape. His voice was rough but his gaze direct, eyes making immediate contact out of self-confidence. No overconfidence though, which she appreciated for a first approach.

"You have a good aim," she replied smoothly, not inviting nor rebuking him outright. "How much did you earn?"

He chuckled in reply, the sound echoing deep from his throat.

"Enough to hold out all night. Why, are you going to arrest me if I gamble too high Miss FBI?" Natasha lost the smile and tensed. He raised a hand in defense: "Don't get on your high horses; I was in the Special Task Forces till two weeks ago. Saw you handle the guy at the hostage situation, back in New York." He sounded gentle and a little awed at the same time. "You did great."

"You mean until the hostage-taker was shot?" Natasha retorted dryly. She remembered that moment, when the man had a teenage girl at the end of his gun. One moment she was aiming for the shoulder; and a blink of an eye later, the criminal's brains were exploding under the pressure of a long-shot bullet.

"Yeah, well, don't be too hard on yourself for that one. The hostage was my protégé. And Katie's still pissed at me for putting blood on her favorite hoodies." He replied nonchalantly. "Maybe I should have let you handle it till the end; that would have saved me half an hour of screaming from my boss."

Natasha blinked and stared at him. Really stared at him.

"Are you kidding me?" she blurted.

The stranger grinned sheepishly.

"I didn't expect seeing you in this bar of all places, y'know? But the boss fired me after that unauthorized shot, so I got time on my hands. And I really liked the way you handled the guy's accomplice afterwards."

"You mean when I handed each and every one of them their sorry asses?" she asked deadpan. The man's grin widened into a charming smirk that made her heart skip a beat. Maybe she shouldn't have drunk that shot of vodka after all.

"I mean when you nearly gutted the guy who had ran through the back door with your pocket knife." Natasha widened her eyes in mid-shock. After the shooting, she had gone through one of her episodes and had gotten away under the guise of checking for any fugitives, but a stray henchman had tried to get the up on her. And she had gone feral on him. But she hadn't expected anyone to see her. Instead of looking accusative or reproachful, the man leaned back, his eyes turning more appreciative. "I like dangerous women." He eventually said, his tone finally reaching the flirty tune she had been expecting from the moment he had taken his seat. What she had not expected though, was the reaction her body had from it. Even though she had no idea who he was, her senses felt roused by his voice and the intensity of his eyes. "The name is Clint Barton, by the way. So are you done for the night or can I buy you a drink?"

* * *

Natasha was in a much better mood the next morning. She came in whistling cheerfully, make up done and hair loose over her shoulders. A good bunch of male colleagues watched her walk by with huge eyes. She usually never wore more than necessary, being in a job where women needed to prove themselves –or become sexless –and had never wanted to deal with extra attention.

Yet that day, she had woken up with a hangover but more content than she had been in years. Steve had always advised her to go out dressed plainly to avoid getting noticed. He had always liked being left alone after the propaganda campaign where he had been on the front line. As she observed a colleague stepping into a wall after staring at her for too long, Natasha wondered why she had ever bothered listening to him.

"I assume the evening went better than expected?"

The redhead glanced at her colleague and occasional partner, Victoria Hand, as she stepped closer to her desk with amused raised eyebrows. She didn't miss the glance of appreciation from her partner. While Hand was straight, she always had a weakness for beautiful women. Natasha decided to feel flattered by the attention and decided to dress up more often.

"Steve never showed up," Natasha replied absentmindedly, turning the coffee machine on and pouring herself a drink.

"So how come you look so…happy?"

Victoria sounded intrigued and puzzled at the same time. Natasha shrugged and turned her computer on.

"I met someone."

A sly smirk grew over her partner's face.

"Oh, wild night then? Daunting, coming from you, Romanoff."

Natasha rolled her eyes and leaned against the border of her desk, one hand dangling over her hip. She took a sip of her drink and went on:

"As surprising as it might seem, we just talked." Flirted and bantered more accurately. And much to her _own_ surprise, she had enjoyed it. His muscled arms on display were a definite added bonus. "And he gave me his number."

Victoria snorted, but her twisting fingers betrayed her undeniable curiosity.

"And you are going to call him?"

"I didn't take it." She replied with a shrug. "I told him if he wants to see me again, he'd just have to-"

"Hello."

Both women turned around. Natasha nearly dropped her cup. Clint Barton, dressed in casual jeans and the _tight_ black T-shirt showing off his arms again, was standing at the edge of the break room, hands in his pants pockets. Smiling casually. And looking really hot.

"Hey handsome," she blurted without thinking.

"Hey, stranger." He replied, his voice amused and husky.

Natasha raised an eyebrow and tilted her head on the side.

" _Stranger_ , and yet you knew where to find me."

He shrugged.

"You're FBI. This is a FBI building. I told the receptionist I had a meeting with a guy I know from around here, slipped in and recognized you from afar." He stepped closer, just as cocky and confident as the previous night. "Since I'm here, and you're here, can I take you out tonight?"

The tone was flirty but not arrogant. His eyes weren't dark with lust or any evil desire. The man had kept his distance in spite of his…interest, and Natasha had honestly enjoyed it. She opened her mouth to reply when the last person she wanted to meet right now stepped in the room.

Steve Rogers was a tall, well-built blonde with gorgeous blue eyes and an easy smile. In spite of his young age, he held the respect and consideration of many of his peers. He had started as a scrawny sick kid, growing into a bigger, better built man through his teenage years only to be reinforced in the army, where he had made wonders during his missions. His easygoing and old-school manners made him popular socially, though his good looks and charisma helped quite a bit. The latter had even caught the attention of the army promoter, who had offered him a big deal of money to be the face of the army. Out of patriotism, Steve had agreed and spent half a year on a publicity tour.

Natasha had met him when she was still a teenager, as the military school was located right next to her high-school. She was hitting a rough patch, he was growing in self-confidence. She needed an ear to listen, he was eager to assist. They married before he left for his second tour, shortly after she turned nineteen.

If asked, Natasha would agree on one thing: the man was, fundamentally, a good person. But he was not a good boyfriend, and definitively a worst husband. He always had the best intentions for everyone, but his priorities were never set straight.

She swallowed her annoyance and readied herself for a confrontation…until she realized something unusual. Barton was frowning. He wasn't doing a 'resting face', as he had called it the previous day. No, this wasn't even a 'where-have-I-seen-this-guy-before', but rather a 'what-in-hell-this-asshole-is-doing-here' type of scowl. That caught Natasha off-guard; usually, everyone fell in awe in front of the mighty Captain America.

After a quick greeting nod to Hand, Steve addressed her directly. He must have been greatly preoccupied if he didn't notice another person standing beside him.

"We need to talk." He blurted before she could even speak.

Barton snorted in his corner. Steve turned around and noticed him for the first time.

"Do I know you?" he asked, returning the frown. Barton raised an eyebrow.

"Don't think I've ever met you face to face," he replied, voice drawling his tone lazily. "You are prettier on paper though."

Steve returned the scowl and scorned at him:

"You seem to have my name. I don't have yours."

"I didn't offer," he replied slyly. Then his expression hardened. "But you should mind your manners, the lady and I were talking."

"Actually, I believe she was done." Steve shot back curtly, shooting her an expectant look. Natasha glared at him.

"You ditched me yesterday, you got nothing to say." Then she turned around to face Clint. "As for you mister, maybe we should take this elsewhere."

Barton gasped in fake hurt and covered his chest with one hand.

"Oh my, what have I done for you to call me 'mister'? I was 'handsome' just a moment ago."

The childish reaction got her to smile.

"Natasha, we should really talk."

The smile faded as fast. She turned back at Steve, who had the gall to look impatient.

"Go. Fuck. Yourself." She retorted and left the room, tugging on Clint's sleeve. The man followed her obediently. Hand stared at her wide-eyed and gaping like a fish out of the water but Natasha shot her off. She had more urgent things to worry about –mainly Clint Barton. Natasha dragged her visitor after her and entered an empty room, closing the door behind. Only then she realized she hadn't dropped his hand and hastily released him. The gesture seemed to amuse him.

"If you wanted me in a room alone, you could have just called me, _Natasha_ ," he pointed out with a little smirk, proud of finally learning her name. Natasha rolled her eyes.

"I didn't want a cock fight in the middle of the room with my colleagues around. Not many people know the infamous Captain America and I were…" her voice trailed off as she hesitated.

"Married?" he offered, and when she started at him in disbelief, he shrugged: "I think you were more than tipsy when you dropped that bit yesterday. And he's still clearly hung after you." Before she could open her mouth to retort something, he laid a finger over her lips. "But let's not talk about that."

His skin felt warm and rough against her mouth. She shoved the feeling aside and huffed 'fine' instead. Barton appeared satisfied and let his finger trailed down her jaw and under her chin.

"May I take you out for dinner?" he repeated his previous offer quietly, eyes suddenly burning with intent. "Say seven tonight?"

"Are you going to follow me till I say 'yes'?" Natasha replied, raising an eyebrow. The cocky grin flashed back. Natasha firmly told herself that her heartbeat was not accelerating. And no, she _wasn't_ feeling the faintest attraction towards him. Clint leaned forward and stopped his face inches away from hers. Natasha felt suddenly fascinated by his pale blue-grey eyes. This time though, she _definitively_ spotted the dilatation of his pupils.

"I can be very persuasive," he whispered, and his husky voice sent shivers down her spine, "When I know I'm not running after a lost cause."


	2. Chapter 2

**Ah well, the story is nearly down anyway, so why wait a week? I'll update every few days just to give me enough time to wrap up the next chap properly. This is 8 chapters long after all..**

 **And the gap in time is voluntary. I was more interested in writing the 'after' more than in 'in-between'...**

 **Thank you for the reviews :)**

 **Unbeta-ed work, so all mistakes are mine!**

* * *

 **Criminal**

 **1**

 **4 years later**

Something solid nuzzled her shoulder, stirring her from sleep. A warm shape ran over her hip and under the shirt she used for sleep. Natasha hummed and relaxed back against a solid chest. Two fingers trailed over her stomach before finding their goal between her thighs.

"Clint-" she whispered –she wasn't quite awake yet. He didn't wait for an answer and started stroking her. Her breath got caught in her throat and she moaned gently, hips moving slightly to accompany the friction. A soft chuckle ticked her ear.

"Shhh," an equally quiet voice replied, and the two teasing fingers disappeared inside her without much foreplay. Natasha gasped and arched back against her lover as he used his free arm to stabilize her hip. "Easy, love."

His fingers pumped inside and out a couple times until she was wet and ready; there he rolled her on her back and parted her legs. Through sleepy eyes, Natasha met Clint's cocky grin. She automatically wrapped her arms around his neck as he brought her leg over his waist and gently eased his way into her. Making love was his favorite way to wake her up in the morning; and since he claimed watching her come from an orgasm was what gave him the kicks, she wasn't one to complain. She ran her hand through his hair as he moved between her thighs, whispering endearments in her ear. Natasha shuddered when she reached her peak, each moan swallowed by his lips. He released her, rolled on his side and cuddled her, smiling against her shoulder.

"Good morning love," he whispered, kissing the skin at the nape of her neck. Natasha stretched her limbs and sighed in content.

"Hey," she replied lazily. "Slept well?"

He opened her mouth to reply but was interrupted by a discontent whimper and a growing cry. They shared a smile both amused and exasperated.

"Stay in bed, I'll go get her," Clint said and left the bed. Natasha admired his naked butt as he put his boxers back on and exited the bedroom. She shifted to stand in a sitting position, back against her pillow, waiting for her lover's return. He came back with a struggling baby in his arms, speaking soft words in attempt to calm her. She watched with a half-smile as his tactic failed, the little being too hungry to be reasonable.

"She's as stubborn as you are," Clint complained, sitting and handing her the baby. Natasha took her daughter in her arms and pressed her against her breast. The baby found her nipple easily and started sucking. When she glanced back at him, Clint wore that look she had yet to decipher on his face. It was a mix between contentment and wonder, like he couldn't fathom why he was here, if he truly belonged there, but couldn't find the will to run away.

Four years together and sometimes, she still couldn't quite read him.

"What is it?" she asked, watching him side-glance.

"Nothing," he replied quietly and watched the baby feed. He tentatively reached out to brush the back of her head where whips of red curls were starting to appear. "She's gonna have your hair."

At first, the news of her pregnancy hadn't gone…well.

Clint had made it clear from the beginning that he didn't have the father vibe and could do without a child. Natasha, for past reasons, had agreed at the time. But once they had been facing the fact…a part of her had wanted to abort but the other, a stronger part that she had imagined, had wanted to keep it. Clint had assured her that whatever she'd chose he would stick with her; even though the idea of a baby wasn't quite welcomed. It had taken her a few weeks to get used to the idea, while he had freaked out for months before accepting he was soon going to be a father. And once Jordan Alice Barton-Romanoff had been born, Clint had seemed ready to endorse his role.

So far, Natasha thought he was doing a very decent job; even if sometimes he still looked awkward and uneasy holding that little girl.

"She'll have your nose," Natasha added with a small smile. Her lover made a noncommittal noise and kissed her temple. He slipped on the mattress next to her and wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

"Hopefully not," he retorted, touching said part of his anatomy. "I don't want to burden her with _that_."

Natasha chuckled and relaxed against him. A little later, the baby released her nipple and snorted loudly to signal she was done. Clint took her back for a burp and a nappy change. Natasha's alarm about ready to ring, she left the bed and headed to the bathroom. She showered, put on her clothes and headed down to the kitchen. Clint was already fixing breakfast, still in just his sweatpants and a 'kiss-the-cook' apron.

"Nice suit," Clint commented appreciatively, eyeing her shamelessly. She returned his look with a raised eyebrow. "What do you think Jordie? Ain't your mom gorgeous?"

The baby glanced at her father at hearing her name and smiled a toothless grin. They sat around the table and ate in a silence only broken by Jordan's occasional 'uh'-ing. Natasha packed her lunch and finished getting ready for the day. Before she left, Clint leaned forwards and gave her a hot kiss.

"Please let them have nothing but peace on earth so I can get my woman in bed all day long," he muttered against her lips. Natasha chuckled and pecked him back.

"Till that day comes…" she whispered, then asked: "Are you staying late at the range?"

"Yeah, probably. I have sponsors stopping by later. Don't worry, I gave Wanda a head's up."

Natasha kissed his cheek in encouragement.

"I should get home early, leave the dinner to me." Then she patted his shoulder and headed out. When she glanced over her shoulder for one last goodbye, he was still staring at her with a heated gaze that told her she better leave now or be half an hour late.

Needless to say, she was late.

* * *

Natasha reached the FBI headquarters in a very good mood, which of course, caught the attention of her partner. Since Hand had moved to another section, she had been assigned to Antony 'Tony' Stark, the arrogant son of a billionaire with a knack for playing detective. He had tried to go through the official channels at first, but after managed to piss off every instructor at the exam, Stark was denied an entry at the FBI. Then he had forced his way by showing up on sites and solving fifteen cases of variable degrees faster than agents on the field. Seeing the obvious potential, the higher-ups had made an exception for him and allowed him in the building under consulting contract. Stark was allowed in, but only accompanied by a partner who turned out to be the only agent who had so far managed to hold her own against him. Otherwise said, her.

"You need to stop fucking your boyfriend every morning," Stark greeted with a smirk as she pushed the door open. He was already at his desk, folding paperwork in origami. "Or we're all going to be jealous."

Stark had his eyes set on the CEO of his company, a fabulous Miss Virginia Potts. While she was freaking competent, she was also freaking insensitive at his advances, which infuriated him a _lot_.

"Potts still didn't let you get any?" Natasha asked teasingly. Stark rolled his eyes and muttered something along 'smartass' or 'aren't you cute'. "You know, that might be good practice in case you get kids. Clint didn't get much half of my pregnancy," she went on, enjoying the slight discomfort on his face at her words. "Although…I _did_ give him loads of blowjobs to make up for the lack of intercourse."

"TMI, TMI, you win," he cut her, waving his hand in surrender. "But I'm still not filling the reports for the All Star snafu. Timmy's poor response time is to blame."

"Wha-teh-ver," she replied dryly. She had no intention of filling that file either.

They didn't have time to argue further about who should work on the report, as their door opened and let their superior in. Melinda May was a woman in her mid forties with a solid background and successful career. A regrettable accident had made her abandon the field for good, but she had recently agreed to take a far higher post to oversee missions from her office.

"A new case?" Natasha asked, vaguely disappointed. Maybe she'd have to ask Clint to cook after all. May nodded firmly.

"Double, maybe triple homicide."

Natasha took the files and opened them for a quick read. Two former military officers found shot in a backstreet two weeks prior. Both had been hit in the head, exit wounds, but no bullet had been found despite marks of impact on the wall. The blood pattern on the ground had confirmed the crime had occurred right where the bodies had been found, but the place was empty when the scene occurred. So far, they didn't have much to go forth with. The previous investigators had made good research but hadn't come with enough clues to actually get somewhere.

"Why does this case falls in FBI jurisdiction?"

"Those two were part of a strike team in Afghanistan. When the initial investigators tried to contact other members back then, they realized most were dead. Latest found is Bobbi Morse, in Alabama, who has drowned three months ago. And more recently a certain Garrett had been stabbed in Florida."

"State crossing, hello FBI," Stark whistled.

"One of the remaining members of that team is FBI," May added. "And he requested to be assigned this case. As he is…intimately concerned, he has to be integrated to a team."

"Is there a risk of him being targeted?" Natasha asked.

"It's a probability, but that's not why he was allowed to work on this. From what I heard, he used a lot of favors to get an in, and asked to be partnered with you." her last words were focused on Natasha. The redhead raised an intrigued eyebrow and nodded for her to continue. "I assume you are familiar with Steve Rogers?"

* * *

Natasha was fast to find an empty office. She slammed the door behind her, held herself on the edge of the desk inside and breathed in and out slowly. Darting out of your office in the middle of a briefing with your boss was not regarded as exactly normal, especially from her. But right now, she couldn't care less.

Steve Rogers was coming here. Steve Rogers, the man she had been married to for four years, the man who broke her instead of healing her, was coming _here_. Pictures ran through her mind, of closets and harsh hands, smiles and shouts linked altogether and laughs that could be angry or happy or cruel. In those moments, she couldn't tell apart the past and the present, her time at the orphanage and with her uncle and with Steve and with the FBI and–

She couldn't breathe. Her vision was swarming, her throat tightening, her hands shaking. She wanted to rip every piece of furniture apart. She wanted to fall on the floor and cry her eyes out. She wanted to scream herself raw.

This kind of episode hadn't happened to her in _months_.

Natasha fumbled to check her pockets and pulled out her cell phone with trembling hands. She pressed Clint's number on speed dial and brought the phone to her ear, slipping into a seated position against the wall in attempt to control her irregular breathing. The tone rang three or four times before he picked up.

" _Hey Tasha._ " The sound of his voice stirred something inside her and she found herself nearly choking in relief. " _Tasha_?"

"Hey," she replied weakly, knowing he would figure out what was going on before she had to explain.

" _Do you need me to come over?"_ he asked instead. Natasha swallowed hard and forced herself to breathe normally.

"I hear your voice; it's enough," she replied quietly, closing her eyes and resting her head against the wall. "H-how are you?"

" _Drowning in paperwork,_ " he said, keeping his tone soft and light. She could hear shots in the background. " _Most students are gun and rifle users. I don't have many archers this morning."_

"What time do your sponsors arrive today already?"

" _Two pm. Probably three."_

They chatted about small nothings until her breath was truly under control and the trembling had ceased.

"Thanks Clint," she said once she felt ready. "Sorry for disturbing your work."

" _What triggered it this time?"_ he asked straight ahead, not bothering accepting the apology.

"Can we talk about this later?" Natasha muttered. "I'm fine, it won't happen again. It was just a –just surprising news, that all."

" _Surprising news that triggered an episode?_ " his voice was skeptical but accepting. _"I want to know everything tonight, okay?"_

"I promise," she replied gently. She hadn't expected such a violent reaction. Steve hadn't been a trigger for a while, but she supposed the stress linked to Jordan's birth, her recent return on the field and the suddenness of the announcement had done it. "See you tonight."

They hung up and Natasha returned to her office, ready to apologize to her boss. She didn't make it far though. Barely halfway to her goal, she was stopped by the very reason why she nearly had a panic attack.

"Hey Natasha, it's nice to see you."

She stared at him up and down. Steve Rogers hadn't changed much from the last time she'd seen him. He was still tall with short blonde hair, well-built and good-looking with a blue gaze than gave him an open and friendly appearance. Female and some male coworkers gawked from the corner of the eye when he walked by. And, worst of all, he looked genuinely happy to see her. Natasha couldn't say the same.

"Rogers," she greeted coolly. "I heard you are crashing the investigation."

He had the gall to wince slightly and scratch his hair in embarrassment.

"I won't be too much of a bother. It's just that I knew most of them and I'd like to know why someone had gone after them. But I heard you were the best the FBI had, so…"

Natasha had to blink at that.

"So you not only pulled a favor to be on the case, but you specifically requested me to be on it?"

"I would have rather not have Stark, but I was told you two came in a package deal."

Oh she was going to strangle May with her bare hands, boss or not. That woman _knew_ of her history.

"And what made you think I would cooperate?" she asked coldly.

"I told Agent May that you were less likely to bow to each request of mine. And that we wouldn't have troubles working together, as we use to be-"

"You are entirely right on the fact that I will never bow to your…requests," she snapped back, cutting him before he could spill the beans in front of her colleagues. "But you are sorely mistaken on whether I'd be willing to work with you on that one." She breathed in deeply and rubbed her eyes, already feeling a headache forming. "May didn't give me a choice on that matter."

The blonde's good mood seemed to falter a little.

"I was hoping you would be happier to see me."

Natasha sincerely hoped Stark would hold her back and prevent her from stabbing him. Or at least help her hide the body. She couldn't believe how that man could have put her in such an emotional state barely ten minutes earlier. She felt so angry at him now…

"You hoped wrong," she snapped back and walked passed him, heading towards her office. With some luck, Stark wouldn't have left yet.

Thankfully, the man was still in there, as well as May. Natasha sent a glare to the latter and a warning glance to the former. Steve stepped behind and entered in turn, his presence filling the room in a snap of the fingers.

"Captain America! What an _honor_!" Stark shrieked with glee; but using that particular tone when he found a new chew toy. From the moment her ex-husband and her current partner made eye contact, the redhead knew _she_ would probably be the one helping Stark to hide Steve's body. The dislike seemed reciprocated as Steve frowned and muttered a courteous but rather frigid 'Stark'. In the corner of the room, May made a face.

Natasha couldn't help but smirk inwardly. Maybe she wouldn't hurt May after all; fixing the downfall with those two on her back would definitively be punishment enough.


	3. Chapter 3

**Criminal**

 **3**

"So, what's you link with the team?"

After promising ( _with fingers crossed in the back_ ) that they would play nice with each other, May had returned to her office to let them work. Natasha had seen with satisfaction that the older woman had been questioning her sanity thrice over for agreeing to Steve's deal. Nonetheless, they were professionals and had all gotten to the task quite fast. The first question that had crossed her mind was her ex-husband's affiliation with the victims.

"I was sent as reinforcement, about a few months after a friend of mine died. James Barnes, he was the team's sniper." Steve explained.

The name rang a bell in her memory; 'Bucky' had been Steve's best friend since childhood, and she had met him a couple of times before his last tour. He had been the complete opposite of Steve, dark and mysterious and a heck lot more prompt to live his life to the fullest. At times, Natasha wished she had met _him_ before stumbling on Steve. Then again, the teenager she had been back then hadn't been quite _approachable_.

"He was replaced by various snipers, but in the end they kept a younger soldier. She wasn't experimented enough, so they called me in to add one guy on the ground." Steve's lips thinned into a line. "I knew them all pretty well."

"You've already did some preliminary research?" Natasha asked.

"The previous unit conducting the investigation contacted me first actually. I managed to reach Daisy –she was the replacement sniper –but she has been in Europe teaching some classes to foreign units for half a year. I often exchange with Sam Wilson, so I know he's fine. Do you remember him?" he added, looking towards Natasha.

The redhead raised an impassive eyebrow.

"You weren't keen on introducing me to your buddies, so no, can't say I had that pleasure."

Steve's wince lasted two seconds before he moved on; but Stark had noticed the slip.

"Oooooh, let me guess; former boyfriend slash girlfriend?"

"Married," Steve said.

"Divorced," Natasha corrected, earning a reproachful glanced from said ex-husband. Stark's eyes were sparkling, but thankfully, he kept quiet. The redhead knew that meant he would return full force at a later date.

"So," he said instead, waving at the stack of paper on the desk. "The first investigators did a pretty good job with their data. Family background, medical psychoanalysis, interviews and all…They just forgot to add the name of the killer."

Steve rolled his eyes and inputted:

"Our time back in Afghanistan didn't bring us only friends. I've had a few hateful arguments with some former soldiers, some locals, people upset by our actions. Never to the point of actually killing though…"

"Was the team gathered together before your arrival?" Stark asked. "Just, y'know, you are a public and popular figure. Most people wouldn't touch someone you've been close to in fear of retaliation."

"Come to think of it, Sam, Daisy and I were the latest recruits." Steve admitted reluctantly. "The strike team had been assembled for over a year before some members started dying. So they have known each other for what, two, three years before we arrived?"

"Each and every one was considered lone wolves with no family ties back home." Stark pointed out, scanning the report made by the previous investigators. "I assume that's why that team holds the 'out on the field' record?"

Steve nodded.

"The team was their family, they were used to the harsh environment by then. There's only one guy I didn't manage to reach; his name is Grant Ward. He and Johnson dated a while back, but she told me they had been separated for over a year. I checked his last address, but it came out void. He had been staying with the team longer than Sam and I have."

"So he is likely to be the only person to know anything about a personal grudge against your old team aside from Wilson," Natasha translated. "Well, I guess we have something to start on now."

* * *

When Natasha pushed the door of her home open at barely four pm, she was exhausted. Stark had generously covered for her since she had requested to leave early. Between catching up on the new case and Steve's constant puppy eyes, she was growing a serious headache. Stepping in the living-room and meeting a familiar and safe environment did wonders on her mood. They had agreed to go meet with Sam Wilson in the morning, if only to press for more details. The previous cops on the case had yet to interview him.

"Afternoon' Miss Natasha."

Wanda Maximoff was nineteen, dark-haired and wore gothic-like clothes and always, always carried a long red coat. She had been Clint's first choice for babysitter, an old acquaintance from his military days. A lost, angry kid he had taken under his wing will it or not. Natasha had been skeptical at first, especially since the first time she had met Wanda, the teenager was under hallucinations due to drugs she had been taking. But she trusted Clint's judgment when he had assured her the teenager had been healing and had given the girl a try. So far, Wanda hadn't disappointed yet.

"Good evening Wanda," Natasha replied, trying to put up a smile. It became more genuine as she spotted her daughter in the background, chewing on soft plastic cubes. "Was Jordan good today?"

Wanda nodded and let her go to the living room. The baby squealed as her mother picked her up and gave her a long, tight hug. She breathed in her smell, enjoyed her light weight against her chest. Jordan started 'uh-ing' as she was rocked and tried to push away from her tight grasp, eventually making a piercing complaining sound. Natasha chuckled and pulled her daughter back enough to face her.

"Hello baby," she cooed. Wide blue eyes stared back at her. "I heard you behaved today?" Jordan replied with a few distraught noises. Natasha held her more comfortably against her chest and kept talking: "I love you, little bugger," she whispered, like a secret. The baby stood quiet now, just stared and listened as she went on quietly: "I'm so glad you're here, even if we weren't expecting you. You gave us loads of trouble, you know that?" Tiny fingers went into an equally tiny mouth. Small lips parted into a wide smile. Natasha grinned back and added quietly: "I'm so happy you're here sweetie."

She kissed her daughter's forehead and set her back on the ground. Jordan babbled something in her baby language and returned to crawling on the carpet.

"She was hungry at three, so I gave her a bottle."

Caught up in the moment with her child, she hadn't heard Wanda return. The teenager ignored her momentary lack of distraction and went on:

"She napped on schedule; she's only been up for the past twenty minutes or so." Natasha nodded at the new piece of information. "Otherwise, she's changed and all…I'll leave you then? Mr. Barton paid me in advance."

Wanda was always uncomfortable around her. Natasha didn't let it bother her, but kept hoping they would get along better in the future.

"It's fine, you can go," she replied. "Thank you for your work."

The teenager nodded and gave one last wave at Jordan before stepping out. Natasha decided to join her daughter on the carpet and play with her until making dinner would become a necessity. She needed a serious distraction, and if taking care of her daughter was the trick, all the better.

Clint arrived home at ten, long after Jordan was put to sleep. Natasha was reading, waiting for him.

"What took you so long?" she asked when he dropped his gear at the entrance. "I was starting to worry."

"Sorry love. I got a call about an old safe of mine that had been destroyed by accident," he replied, clearly annoyed. "There was nothing important inside it, but I still had to deal with more paperwork. And after that, Kate dropped by. I couldn't get rid of her." Katie Bishop, Clint's star archer pupil and self-claimed protégé, had no notion of time.

"You should have invited her over," Natasha pointed out; contrary to Wanda, she went well along with Kate.

"She just wanted to shoot. But I'll offer next time."

He looked so annoyed she couldn't help but smile.

"I suppose you already ate then?"

He shook his head.

"I'm fucking starving." He growled then winked. "And I'd eat your spaghetti anytime over some fancy fish." Natasha didn't bother asking how he knew she had cooked spaghetti; that was the only dish she didn't mess up. "What about we settle around the table and you tell me what's bugging you?"

She nearly froze in midair as she rose and glanced at him. He had that worried line between his eyebrows, staring at her like he could read through her. She had hoped they wouldn't tackle that subject so fast, but it seemed that he had been wondering all day long. Natasha bit back a sigh, knowing she owed him an explanation.

"We have a new case. Triple homicide, maybe more." She paused and admitted: "My ex-husband is concerned. He's joining the team for the duration of the investigation."

"In ex-husband, you mean Steve Rogers?" Clint asked with a raised eyebrow.

Natasha snorted.

"I was only married once, you know."

Clint's mouth twisted in distaste.

"Do you need me to show up with you at work? To remind him that you're taken?"

The way he said it brought a tiny smile on her face. Clint's version of showing off his territory was to…well, show it off. If she said yes, Natasha knew they would be making out scandalously in full view of everyone in the building. Stark would never let her get over it.

"Tempting, but I'll handle it." Natasha replied, leaning forwards to steal a chaste peck from him. When she pulled back though, she hesitated slightly: "Although…I think I –I may need _that_ , tonight."

Her lover studied her very carefully, but she held his stare without a blink.

 _That_ involved handcuffs, a blindfold ( _most often her shirt raised over her face)_ her naked body spread on the bed at Clint's mercy. Depending on the mood, he could tease her with light touches or go all cavemen on her; but they would inevitably end with him inside her and her screaming his name. Sometimes, toys were thrown in the mix to make things more interesting. This wouldn't be about the act or submission, but trust. She would trust him not to push her limits, and he would trust her to know them.

Tonight, Natasha felt she needed a reminder that what she and Clint had was real, despite the uncontestable proof sleeping upstairs.

"You sure?" he asked again, hands slowly creeping towards her hips and cupping her waist gently. His tone was cautious but his pupils were starting to dilate. Natasha smirked inwardly; not matter what he said, he always liked having her open and vulnerable for him. She liked to think Jordan had been conceived during one of those moments.

"Positive." She replied, then stifled a laugh when Clint's stomach made its priorities known. "But let's get you fed first."

* * *

The car drive on the way to Wilson's workplace seemed to stretch indefinitely as they got stuck in traffic. Stark had somehow managed to break his leg the previous night, so Natasha was left alone to work with her ex-husband on field trips while the consultant kept searching for traces of Grant Ward. Natasha had denied Steve the wheel, thinking driving might distract her enough to forget about the man's presence on the other seat. But Steve had definitively forgone the attempt and had tried to coax a few words from her. She had managed to ignore most of it, but some questions had irritated her. And even now, as they were approaching, he was starting to talk about their upcoming interview.

"I know him, from back in the army. Wilson's a good guy, I'm sure he had nothing to do with this."

Natasha glared at the man.

"Whether you are right or wrong," she replied icily, "Let me have a chance to be judge of that. And he might know something we don't."

She hated this, hated that she had to be partnered with her ex-husband to investigate on a series of murders. She hated that she was the only counter-measure to his wills, the only one he'd reasonably listen to. But she was an FBI agent and a professional, so she would do her job, no matter how tight her teeth were gritting.

They arrived at the center fifteen minutes ahead and were welcomed at the reception by an all-teeth smiling girl. Sam Wilson arrived right on time. He was rather slim but well-built black man wearing clean jeans and a grey sweater. He appeared quite normal, flashing his psychologist side rather than the former flying soldier, Natasha reflected, especially with the neutral smile on his face. She could tell the reserved friendliness wasn't faked, but the sharpness and intensity in his eyes let little doubt that he was watching them very carefully.

"Hey Sam," Steve greeted friendly. The black man smiled back and grabbed the offered hand with genuine pleasure. "Meet Agent Romanoff," Steve added, introducing her to him. Wilson shook her formally but not unfriendly.

"Pleasure to meet you Ma'am." He replied, taking a second longer when he looked at her. Although she knew she was well-dressed today –Clint had let her know he certainly approved her choice of clothes –she didn't think it was her physical appearance that caught his eye. Was he evaluating her?

"Is there a place we can speak privately?" Natasha demanded politely. Wilson got the hint and nodded towards an opened door nearby.

"Sure. Just there." He led them inside and closed behind. It was a small room, one window and a couple of chairs –leftovers from a former reunion, all fit for privacy. "So, what can I help you with?"

Steve leaned back comfortably against the wall. Cool and comfortable. The attitude he used when he wanted to keep things friendly but was still looking for some answers.

"You heard about the two assassinations in town? Rumlow and Sitwell?" Wilson nodded. "Remember them?" It wasn't as much as a question that a statement, but the retired solder merely nodded.

"Same regiment back in the army. I had to share bunks with both for a while." The black man confirmed with a sharp nod, but didn't offer more information. Was he reluctant to speak of his former fellow soldiers? Did he have something to hide? Was he upset by their death? Did he not know them that well? Did he dislike them? Questions fused in Natasha's mind as Steve went on:

"Two new bodies belonging to the company were found recently. Do you remember Garrett and Morse?"

Wilson widened his eyes in shock. The way he strongly reacted compared to the former news was striking and telling. Natasha immediately knew that he didn't held Rumlow and Sitwell in high esteem but either Garrett or Morse was a different story.

"Bobbi?" Morse then. "Jesus, yeah of course I remember her. She's dead too?"

"She was found drowned in a lake three months ago. The link with Rumlow and Sitwell's murders was only made recently," Natasha announced, still watching for a reaction. "But previous wounds suggested head trauma and blunt scars torture." Wilson's eyes became unfocused as he seemed to be ingesting the news. "But the type of death does suggest that the person who killed Rumlow and Sitwell was another."

She had hoped to destabilize him more, but Wilson was a soldier. If anything, this was an, unfortunately, familiar situation for him. The army lost soldiers every day after all.

"When did she…when was her body found?" he asked tiredly. "She was supposed to stop by two months ago but she never showed up."

"Were you two intimate?"

Steve glared at her while Wilson gave a dry snort.

"We were soldiers on the same team for over three years. She patched me up too many times to count, saved my sorry ass a couple others. We were friends; that's it."

"I'm sorry for your loss," Natasha said softly and genuinely, still noting with interest that he hadn't asked about Garrett. "You said you were expecting her two months ago?"

Sam nodded, more focused than before.

"Yeah. We use to go on those 'meetings', with some old guys if they're free. Bobbi and I were the only ones available, so we figured we'd meet up at some place. But we had an argument about some old stuff, so when she didn't show up, I just thought she was still pissed at me. I didn't worry, just thought she was giving me the silent treatment. She had before."

"Did Rumlow and Sitwell come to those meetings?" she paused and glanced at Steve. "Did _you_?"

Steve shook his head negatively as Wilson admitted:

"They came sometimes, but they're not welcomed by everyone. Rumlow is –was- a bit stiff, but that's his personality. Sitwell is cool but sometimes a bit too overconfident in that arrogant way. Bobbi refused to come if Sitwell was there. She blamed him for her fiancé's death, so we try to keep them separated. Unneeded tensions and all, y'know."

Steve blinked in surprise.

"I didn't know that."

Wilson shrugged.

"His name was Lance Hunter. He died a year before you arrived. No-one really spoke of him afterwards."

Natasha returned on the point interesting her.

"And was he? Responsible for her fiancé's death?"

Wilson's eyes turned a shade darker.

"Sitwell shouldn't have gotten his spot. He wasn't bad at what he did, just not good enough. War is war, a single mistake can cost lots of lives. And our team was one of the bests. We couldn't afford 'good enough'. But Garrett insisted he stay, so he stayed. Orders are orders." He added on a bitter tone. "I, personally, wasn't a big fan of Garrett. Or Sitwell, for the matter," He added afterthought.

"They weren't really great people," Steve admitted in turn to support his friend's words. Natasha considered the pros and cons of strangling him to keep him quiet. She decided to ignore it. No need for quarrel, especially since Wilson's expression reminded her of Clint's whenever he mentioned his fallen friends.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Natasha said softly again. Wilson gave her a tight, brief smile.

"Job hazard ma'am. Anything you wanted to know?"

"Would you happen know anyone who would have a grudge against your former team?"

The black man hummed as he seemed to think.

"Life has been rather banal lately." He replied calmly. "Aside from Bobbi, I didn't keep in touch with the rest of the team. Except for you." He added, nodding at Steve. "A couple threats, yeah, but nothing… _bad_ , you know. Besides, the only people pissed at me right now are my neighbors because my dog's been a little shit."

"And you noticed no-one suspicious around your house, your family? Nobody asking questions?"

The black man shrugged.

"I only have an estranged sister, a few cousins I only see at Christmas and a couple of friends. If anyone had asked about me, they would have called. And I doubt a murderer –from what I've heard –with such standards would lower himself or herself to approach me."

"Sam, you should really get protection." Steve eventually said, voice laced with worry.

Wilson merely rolled his eyes.

"No offence man, but I doubt any surveillance you'll put on me will stand against a guy who can take Morse, Rumlow, Sitwell and Garrett. And I'm not scared." He glanced at his watch. "If you have no more questions, I need to go. I have a session in ten minutes."

They had none they could think of, so prepared to leave when Natasha had a sudden hunch. While reading the files, a name had appeared briefly, seemingly unimportant and unrelated to the case, but it had bugged her. She decided to try anyway.

"Do you know who Nick Fury is?" she asked, lie detector fully turned on.

Wilson batted an eyelid. And right there, Natasha knew he knew the man. He not only knew the man, but he was hesitating to tell them that he did. Now, wasn't that interesting?

"Colonel Fury," he eventually said. "Who didn't? His team was legend on the field. Ruthless, but his calls sometimes made the difference." Wilson narrowed his eyes and snorted. "Why, is he a suspect in all this? He's been dead for years."

She kept her eyes on him. The myriad of emotions had changed into an angry one, but she couldn't tell who it was directed against.

"Thank you for your time, officer Wilson," she said, having nothing else to ask him. He returned her greeting and muttered something under his breath as he walked away. Natasha wasn't quite sure what he had said –it hadn't been meant for her ears obviously, but she was rather certain he had uttered the words: _"guess I was too late_."


	4. Chapter 4

**Thanks for the reviews :3**

 **Still unbeta-ed work..all mistakes are mine ^^**

* * *

 **Criminal**

 **3**

It only took Steve fifteen minutes to start grilling her after their departure.

"What was that?" he demanded angrily.

"What was what?" Natasha repeated, annoyed at his lack of precision. She was pretty sure she had annoyed him a few times with some questions and her cool but professional attitude towards Wilson.

"Why are you bringing Colonel Fury into this? I wasn't aware you knew him."

She rolled her eyes. Of _all_ things?

"My man worked under his command. I wanted to see if I could tie a few loose ends I read in the file."

At the words 'her man', Steve's body tensed sharply.

"Where exactly does _your man_ step in?" he asked, voice tight and disdainful. Natasha ignored his tone and went on:

"I just had a hunch. Your former strike team was directed by Alexander Pierce, correct? From what I heard, Fury and Pierce were at odds, and Fury died in a suspicious accident. If this is about revenge, then maybe it could be from inside, someone from Fury's team getting back at Pierce's old team."

"I've met both Pierce and Fury back in the day." Steve interrupted dryly. "They had different means to an end but they were both following the same lane. They were good people. They wouldn't have fought against each other."

"Pierce is a politician and Fury a man of the ground. Both would have different view on things, and different ways to act on them," she corrected. "And each man would have directed their team in their own way. Since the outsider source isn't going far for now, I'm just trying to figure out if someone from Fury's team is a trail worth following."

There followed an uncomfortable silence, only disturbed by the music on the radio. When Steve spoke again, she did not see the subject coming:

"Sharon and I broke up eighteen month after our divorce. The child wasn't mine."

Natasha blinked. She wasn't quite sure what he was after with that kind of confession.

"I'm _so_ sorry for you," she replied sarcastically instead. "Does it mean you broke up with the kid too?"

Steve swallowed hard, either to bite back a snarky comment or out of guilt for admitting leaving a baby without a father. Most likely the second, since he replied:

"Natasha, I should have never left you."

He suddenly looked pathetic. And Natasha couldn't give a care.

"Cry me a river," she muttered. Steve swallowed and added quietly:

"I want you back. That's why I asked to be assigned to your team. I was hoping we could…try again."

Natasha couldn't help it. She laughed wholeheartedly. Steve's expression between upset, hurt and hopeful was just so much irony she could handle.

"Forget it Captain," she retorted, wiping her eyes. "And if you get back on the subject, I'll give you a well-deserved kick in the balls."

"There must still be something, Natasha. I still love you, you know."

What felt like a lifetime ago, she would have probably cried at the confession and forgiven him right on spot. But that was a lifetime before Clint.

"Be glad leaving you on the sideway would bring more trouble than you're worth, or you'd already be outside." she concluded dryly.

The blonde man turned sideways and she felt his gaze resting on her heavily.

"You've changed." He said disapprovingly. That tone use to make her feel like a schoolgirl being reprimanded by her teacher. Natasha decided to set things straight and if he commented again, to hell with the consequences; he'd return by foot.

"I'm happy." She replied. "I have a nice place, a good man who loves me like crazy and a beautiful baby girl." She turned towards him and added icily: "Now Back. Off. Understood?"

Steve's face had turned white at the mention of her daughter, and Natasha felt a guilty pleasure at that. She was having the life he had wanted with her at first, before he screwed everything with his stupid behavior. The man nodded stiffly and didn't speak for the rest of the ride.

* * *

In spite of Steve's reluctance, Natasha decided to follow her gut and pay Fury's family a visit. As she had told her ex-husband, Clint had served under the man and held a healthy respect towards him. He had also mentioned Alexander Pierce and although he had remained ambiguous about him, Natasha could tell he didn't like him. Perhaps it was a wild chase, but her guts had never wronged her before. So there she was, standing in front of the porch, ringing at the doorbell of the Fury's household.

She had seen pictures of Nicolas Fury before. Clint had one in the back of his dresser, buried inside a box under other old pictures he had kept from his time in the army. Hence, she knew the man was black. So Natasha was a bit startled when a pretty much white young woman opened the door to answer her.

"Good afternoon; I'm looking for Maria Fury, Nicolas Fury's daughter," Natasha said.

"What's it for?" the young woman replied, face plain bored.

"My name is Natasha Romanoff, I'm with the FBI. Are you Maria?"

The young woman's face remained impassible.

"Once again, what's it for?"

Natasha decided to take it for a 'yes'.

"I'm here to talk about your father's death."

The young woman's frown deepened in annoyance.

"I already was asked questions when he died," she replied dryly. "Feel free to read the reports, everything's inside it."

That was not going to work. Natasha tried a different angle:

"Look, I knew your father from Clint Barton, and he told me enough times he thought he was murdered. I want to hear your version face to face."

At the name, Maria raised an eyebrow.

"You know Barton?" she asked. Hesitated a moment. "You said your name was Natasha Romanoff?"

The redhead nodded. The young women hesitated a moment more, then decided to speak, still not inviting her inside.

"What's your interest in his death?"

"An ongoing case that might or not be related to him," Natasha replied honestly. "It was written off as an accident, but a few people –such as Barton and, I suppose, yourself –suspected it wasn't. What would you say about it?"

Maria's face hardened.

"I know the kind of man father was. He had responsibilities and he chose to endorse them. People feared or respected him or both, and he was a very straightforward man," she left her voice trail off and shook her head. "He was investigating someone, right before he died. I don't know the details, but his last call was pretty clear; he'd found enough evidence to burst that person out in public. And that guy used big means to silence him."

"You suspect someone had voluntarily planned the accident?"

The young woman shifted on her feet uncomfortably.

"Look, I'm not speculating and I'm not crazy. Father's death arranged a lot of people. He tended to kick into the few stones no-one wanted to move. He was constantly watched because of that." her mouth twisted into a grimace. "I know he was murdered, no matter what journalists or reporters or whoever pulled the strings said."

"Was he liked by his people?"

Maria shrugged.

"He had his followers and haters, if you can call them that. But generally people respected him for his results." She paused and stared at her. "If you are asking, would one of his soldiers go on a rampage to avenge his death, I'd say maybe. I wasn't too close with his men." She paused, checked her watch and sighed. "Listen, I was asked thousands of questions back then. Just read the fucking report if you're not happy."

Natasha felt the upcoming unwelcomed tune in her voice and knew she would get no more answers. She nodded.

"Alright. Thank you for your time."

But Maria didn't close the door right away. She stared intensely at the redhead's face, a dark glint growing in her eyes.

"If you find who did this killing, tell me. I'd like to shake their hand."

Natasha raised an eyebrow.

"Why's that?"

Maria's face closed up and she slammed the door in her face without much of an answer.

* * *

"And that was all I got from her." Natasha concluded, frustrated, as she reread her notes. She had left the Fury's household with the strong impression that Maria knew more than she was letting on and had shared her impressions with the team. Only Stark seemed to find the tidbit of information interesting and had claimed he would spare some of his precious time to dig deeper before cutting the Skype live feed. Due to his broken leg, the bastard had asked for a videoconference to be kept on the loop. Then, she had returned home and spilled her guts to her lover.

A snort made her glance up. Clint was hiding what was definitively a smirk behind his glass. She narrowed her eyes.

"You think that's funny?"

"No, not especially." He replied, but amusement was clearly laced in his tone. "But honestly, I'm not surprised. Maria was already the most stubborn and secretive kid back in the days; Nick had the hardest times to get her to open up. She must have liked you to say anything at all. I have to consider myself lucky when she ever answers my texts."

Natasha nearly dropped her pencil.

"Wait, you're in _contact_ with her?" she asked in disbelief.

Clint stared at her with a questioning eyebrow.

"I wasn't aware you were investigating on Fury," he defended himself. "You just mentioned a 'triple homicide' and none of the guys killed were with me back then. I would have introduced you if you'd asked."

"Clint…" she started warningly. Her lover sighed deeply and took a seat on the opposite couch. He knew he would be in the doghouse if he tried to withdraw information from her.

"Yes, as you know, I served under Colonel Fury's command." he said, and of course she knew that, but she wasn't aware he had had an encounter with any of her victims. He was right though, she hadn't told him who this was about. "And the only reason I've met Maria was…" his voice trailed off. "I was there when we rescued her and another bunch of pre-teens from being shipped off as slaves." He shook his head, she suspected, to chase away the memories. "They'd been there for weeks. She had actually been trying to escape the building when we arrived. Fury sort of adopted her on spot and made it official when he returned. I would see her hanging around during our training sessions, but that's all."

Natasha tensed, sensing this was a particularly touchy subject. As she remembered the hard face of the woman and with what Clint had just slipped, she beguilingly understood her reluctance to speak.

"That must have been hard," she noted.

"Fury tried to keep that part of her past under wraps, something about giving her a new start." He added with a fond smile. "Poor kid had gone through enough already; I gave her my number if she ever needed anything." His face sobered drastically. "She was devastated by his murder."

"So you definitively think it was murder?"

Clint snorted, meaning yes.

"You've read the file on his past actions, Tasha; you know what he was capable of. That guy would have survived an atomic bomb."

His right hand settled on her shoulder and he slid his left fingers under her chin and pulled gently. Her head was tilted backwards as he leaned forward for a kiss.

"Working with Rogers is tensing you up," he remarked. "You need to trust your instincts more." Both hands cupped her cheeks and his eyes planted inside hers. "And relax."

In spite of herself, Natasha felt the tension leave her body.

"You just want sex," she said with the token resistance in her voice. Clint flashed his boyish grin, the one she still had trouble resisting even after three years of common life.

"I want you bent over the table, shivering and begging me for release, while I pound into you from behind and admire your gorgeous breasts crushed on the surface and your flushed face in the mirror," he corrected with dilated pupils. Natasha couldn't help glancing at the kitchen table and felt the shiver run down her spine and warmth grow in her lower stomach. Sometimes his words were as effective as having his fingers inside her. "You were making such sexy noises yesterday night. I kinda want to hear them again."

She playfully slapped his chest, cheeks slowly turning pink.

"Stop redirecting the subject, I'm trying to be serious here."

He cut her with another kiss, deeper and more passionate. Thoughts fled her brain as she started picturing the next step…And Jordan started crying, awakening from her sleep. Clint pulled back reluctantly. Natasha chuckled at his disappointed groan.

"I'll feed her," she said. "And I won't put my bra back on."

Clint peeked up with clear interest. Natasha rolled her eyes; that man's sexual appetite was unbelievable. It didn't help that he knew every trick to make her beg.

"You know, I think I fall in love with you a little more every day." He said, blowing her a kiss. Natasha laughed, cheeks pink and chest fluttering, and left to feed her daughter.

* * *

When she arrived the next morning, Steve was already there. Stark too, typing on his tablet, even though he had a big plaster on his leg. The former looked ready to kill something while the second all too proud of himself. Natasha wondered how much time it would take for Steve to file a report on Stark. Or hit him. The consultant glanced at her upon her arrival and raised his eyebrows high.

"Oooooo-kay," was his first word. "Someone got fucked within the inch of their life," he noticed out loud.

Natasha didn't even flinch over the indignant and furious glare of her ex-husband.

"Clint was thorough," she replied instead. As she should have expected, Clint hadn't stopped at the table. Her knees had burns from the carpet of the living room, her thighs were sore from holding onto his waist in the shower and she had trouble walking straight courtesy of this morning extraordinary performance, but she didn't regret one thing. "Your fault, actually," she added just to spite Steve. She knew he'd hate hearing her taking pleasure with another man. "He wants to make sure I know I have his _entire_ attention. And he likes hearing me-"

"Once again, TMI!" Stark interrupted with a near shout. "Jeez Red, you're like my sister! Hearing your boasting about your man's prowess in bed is not helping."

Natasha felt touched and amused at her partner's reluctance. Steve looked ready to kill. She didn't pity him one bit though; but she did wonder whether he'd remain professional all day or try to ask more about her private life later.

"So, what about today?"

"We were waiting for you, actually," Stark said. "I put a hit on hospital arrivals and a man fitting Ward's profile was found this morning. Not dead," he added before they could interrupt him. "But barely breathing. This time, our army killer used his bare fists to make his point."

"He was nearly beaten to death?" Steve asked in shock.

Stark nodded, more serious now.

"You two go ahead and pay a visit to your comrade; I've been digging after a trail. I need to work a bit more on that."

Natasha raised an eyebrow and tried to peek over his shoulder.

"Anything you want to share to the class yet?"

Stark subtly hid his screen from view.

"I'll probably draw my own conclusions by the time you've returned. See ya."

Natasha didn't push the issue and waved goodbye. Steve followed her promptly, a little lost.

"And you won't inquire further on his research?" he asked midway.

"Tony won't answer as long as he's not figured out something," Natasha replied patiently. "I tried before; it's better to just let him think and hear the results later."

"That's not-"

"Don't get me started on trust and teamwork, Rogers. We have a man to interview."

* * *

The interview, as it turned out, was useless. Steve clearly identified the man lying on a hospital bed, but Ward was still under induced sleep and wouldn't be awoken. The doctors were very adamant that he rested to recover from his injuries. Whoever had attacked him had wanted to make sure he would suffer, but the doctor's report was even more interesting.

"He didn't try to defend himself?"

The doctor nodded, running through his notes.

"No traces of drugs in his system, nothing that suggests defensive wounds. He took hits but didn't return them." Pause. "Actually, he's lucky to be alive at all."

Upon those words, they had hit the road back to headquarters, ready to debate some more. Steve was pissed about Ward being hurt while Natasha, who had deeply read the man's background file, was more skeptical on the motives.

"But his attack doesn't make any sense! Ward was just a soldier, who would attempt to go after him?"

"He's not so innocent. If you take each file, they all had suspicious backgrounds and I suspect that Maria Fury believes one of them killed her adoptive father."

"She's eighteen and grieving." Steve snapped back.

"She was raised by a military man who had his secrets and who taught her how to keep them," Natasha took a step forward. "What if you're reading this wrong Rogers? What if you're completely mistaking your target? Do you think this is the work of a man or a woman who decided to strike down a full team just because? Wilson's attitude said it all; he cared about Bobbi Morse but he couldn't give two shits about Rumlow and Sitwell and Garrett. And Morse was found drowned, Garrett stabbed, and the two others shot execution-style. Why such different deaths? Grant's injuries showed he didn't even try to defend himself. Why? Did he feel guilty of something so badly he refused to raise his fists? Did he know whoever came after him?"

"He could have been hit in the head first then beaten up," Steve retorted. "He had a head trauma, probably blurred his senses."

"But why? You still haven't supposed why anyone would come after them."

"He still thinks this is revenge after something the team did before he arrived." Stark interrupted and threw on the desk a recently printed file. "I got my theory. Check this out."

Tossed hastily, the file opened and released some of its content. A written report and various pictures of crime scenes spread over the table. Natasha recognized them right away.

"That's the archers' case." She said out loud. "It was declared cold four years ago."

"One of your rare left unsolved," Stark approved. Steve peeked at the file with curiosity.

"I remember that one," he said, frowning. "It made the headlines for a while. What happened?"

Natasha swallowed hard. When her boss had declared the case closed, she had been upset, but with some distance, also relieved. This had been her first independent one, true, but at the same time…

"Two archers were on a killing spree in town," she explained. "We figured out one was a vigilante and the other just a sadistic murderer."

"How so?"

Natasha silently separated the pictures in two groups. She started by pointing at gruesome and mutilated corpses.

"Some victims were tortured to the brick of death. That guy was a sick weirdo." She grimaced and shivered inwardly. "A creative one too. The other one," she pointed to another set of bodies: "aimed exclusively at people formerly belonging to a former human trafficking ring."

"That ring had been dissembled barely a year before. And guess where?" Stark hit the table with his knuckle. "In Iran, right in the region your old strike team was located at the time."

"I fail to understand the usefulness of this piece of information." Steve snorted sarcastically.

"I dug a bit deeper in your old pals' pasts," Stark went on, ignoring Steve's attempt to cut him. "I had to go veeeery deep but some guy name nicknamed Deadpool tipped me about Garrett's unclear motives to set camp there. He had ties with one of the guys that archer shot down four years ago. You might still believe it's vague, but hear this; the whole time Garrett and the team stayed there, he and the two others there got some pretty cash in a foreign account related to them. And when suddenly the ring got bombed –yeah you hear me right, someone decided to burn that building to bits –the team had to relocate elsewhere –in Afghanistan. But the ring was exposed, lots of people got involved, including some of that team and not in a good way. We never heard of it because the whole thing was put under wraps by none other than Alexander Pierce. He was the top supervisor at the time. And if I didn't think he was one of the biggest assholes I've ever met, he did a good job hiding this. Until I dug it out, that is."

"So Pierce could be involved now?" Steve asked in disbelief.

Natasha was starting to see the big picture.

"You think the vigilante archer is back? That he's the one behind these assassinations? Tying up loose ends? And that Pierce could be his next victim?"

Steve sighed in disbelief and shook his head.

"Okay I think we're overreacting here. This is just speculation. Why don't we just…" his shoulders slumped. "It's close to lunchtime now; why don't we just take a break here? We'll keep going after some rest."

Without waiting for an answer, he left the room, still muttering under his breath. The two partners exchanged an incredulous stare before Stark asked:

"He's got his panties in a twist or what?"

Natasha snorted and shrugged. She expected another snotty remark, but when she glanced at Stark to respond, she was surprised to see him staring at her completely sober.

"Actually, I have something to tell you. Something I didn't want to say in front of mister so-full-of-myself," he said seriously. Natasha raised an eyebrow and waited. "I had to break through archaic archives to go there, stuff that hadn't been on the computers as they were so redacted. But I found out that in the time after Barnes was reported missing and Miss Johnson transferred, there was a guy serving as their sniper. He only stayed a couple weeks, so official records didn't bother writing his name on the team list. Then again, the guy was sent away to –where, I don't know, I kept hitting classified wherever I went."

"And how did you find his trace?"

"Like I said, I followed breadcrumbs. Traced every sniper transfer at the time likely to be assigned on that team and pulled a list of the only people available at the time that could have served in Pierce team for a short while…" he pulled out a sheet of paper. "Tada."

Natasha took the list and read a number of ten names. But her eyes focalized on one in particular. She slowly inhaled and exhaled, then met her partner's eyes steadily.

"Why are you doing this?"

Stark shrugged, his eyes harboring an edge she had never seen on him before.

"My vision of justice is…not in complete sync with the system. I approve what that guy did at the time and if I'm right with my hunches, I'd say he should have been given a fucking medal. Also…I thought it might be best to let you make the final decision. Just let me know whether I have to zip my mouth or allow my brilliance to put your boyfriend in jail for the rest of his life."


	5. Chapter 5

**Blackhawks Child:** I'm not that cruel...here's the next chapter ^^

 **All mistakes are mine! Please enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Criminal**

 **4.**

Natasha pushed the door of her house open and entered. She felt numb and disoriented as she walked through the front door, a bad feeling creeping in her lower stomach. She didn't want to believe Stark. She didn't want to believe her partner had somehow made up a case in which her lover's name would appear as one of the suspects, and a pretty good suspect as it was.

She didn't want to believe Stark, because if she did, it meant she would have been right from the start.

Clint was in the living room, playing with Jordan. She paused at the sight; a full grown man with such strength in his arms sitting and waving a teddy bear under the baby's noise and speaking in hushed and cooing tones. And in return, the little girl trying to reach the toy and laughing at each attempt. It was such a domestic picture, something she had come to cherish. And she might just be about to break it into pieces.

Natasha cleared her throat to catch Clint's attention. Her lover was on his feet at unsuspected speed and relaxed when he saw her.

"Tasha?" he asked cautiously. "I didn't know you were coming home for lunch. Is everything alright?"

"We have a suspect," she replied blandly. "But that's not why I'm here. Do you remember the case I was working on when we just met? Or rather, the case that had just turned cold?"

Clint blinked, not expecting the subject.

"The two archers?" Natasha nodded. His mouth twisted downwards and he nodded towards Jordan. "Mind if I lay her before we go on?"

"Just put her in her baby space," she said, nodding towards the special enclosure Clint had built to keep their daughter safe from wandering when they were busy. He did, and then returned to stand in front of her. Natasha was glad he had taken the initiative; if Jordan had been in her legs as she spoke, she would have never had the nerves to finish. "Did you know I was on one of the archers' hit list? At the time, I thought I was chasing a hot trail. At the time, I was still inexperienced. At the time I didn't realize he was leading me into a trap."

Clint let her speak without interruption.

"He knocked me out, and I woke up tied to a chair. He toyed with me five hours. During five hours, he taunted and tortured me, describing every single thing in crude detail he planned to do to me. And when he took his bow, right when he aimed at me, another arrow crossed his throat and killed him on spot. I don't know why, but the vigilante had come and for some reason, had saved me. He had a hood on his face, and I was halfway knocked out, but I still remember this moment clearly. Do you know what that person did? That person cupped my cheeks, stared into my eyes and whispered ' _hold on_ '. And then he carried me out and called 911." She paused, waited for a reaction. Got none. "I never forgot his eyes or his voice. I never forgot the touch of his hand on my face." She swallowed. "And when…when you came in my life, that you told me you taught archery, that you were a sniper…and then I always wondered why I felt so comfortable with you, even though I barely knew you. I had a feeling and I wanted to be wrong…but I'm not, am I? You were the vigilante archer."

Clint's face remained of stone. He swallowed heavily, and then slowly, very slowly, nodded. Natasha's heart shattered. Her hand reached her firearm and rested on its handle. Clint still didn't move.

"I spent years chasing you," she whispered.

"Yes, you did," he replied softly. "You were good at it too."

"Not that good, apparently." She snapped. Her lover shrugged.

"You kept losing me because I had an inside man, so to say," he muttered. "I had close calls, even if I was warned a few moments before."

Natasha swallowed heavily, deciding to put aside the thought of someone working with and at the same it against her.

"Are you the one who killed your old teammates?"

Clint stared back, holding her gaze. He didn't seem surprised that she knew about his time spent with Rumlow, Sitwell and the others. Either he had faith in her abilities, either he didn't care.

"I wouldn't go as far as to call them teammates, since I barely got the chance to know them. But no, I didn't kill them," he said, still quietly. But there was a glint in his eyes, the kind he had when he was hiding something from her.

"But you know who did this," she whispered. A fleeing guilty glint crept in his eyes as he looked away. Natasha felt anger building from within. "You know, don't you?"

He hesitated, but eventually nodded again.

"Yes, I do."

Natasha took a step closer. Her whole body was burning in rage.

"And who do you suspect, Clint? Or how long are you going to keep covering a fellow murderer?"

Something flared in Clint's eyes.

"Do you know why I was sent to Fury's team?" he suddenly asked. Natasha did not expect the question but narrowed her eyes.

"What does it have to do with the current situation?"

A half-felt 'humor me' smile was his reply. She sighed and nodded at him to go on.

"Before being transferred to Fury's team, I was under Pierce's orders. Just a couple weeks, nothing more." He replied. Natasha shut her eyes tightly and gritted her teeth. So Stark was right. "But during my short time there, I led an unsanctioned hit. A slave trafficker headquarters was set near our temporary location. I was the sniper. I saw from afar what they did to those people." He paused, eyes darkening as he remembered. "But when I reported it to Pierce, he ordered me to turn a blind eye. It wasn't our business, to be there. This was the country's problem."

"But you made it yours," Natasha interrupted, starting to see where this was leading.

Clint laughed humorlessly.

"I convinced a friend to help me and dynamited the shit out of that place. When disturbances were noted by officials, Pierce knew what I'd done. He was hellbent on locking me down for treason till Fury got me out of that hellhole and offered me a spot in his strike team. And when I was shipped back in the States…I found that the camp I destroyed had backups all over the country. So I decided to finish what I started."

"When was that?"

"'Bout five years ago. They were the guys I was going after."

Natasha shut her eyes tightly, willing herself to wake up. This couldn't be real.

"I should arrest you right here, right now," she hissed angrily. Clint's face showed no reaction, which angered her even more. "I swear to God Clint, you-"

Her voice broke. He didn't try to argue, didn't attempt a move to escape. His tired eyes were set on her and she hated them for being so open and vulnerable. She hated that she didn't know whether this was a show or not.

"I have no excuse, other than my own conviction I was doing the right thing. Their ringleader was too high-up in spheres, they would have escaped the law. The one guy who tried to go down that path ended up dead in a car crash."

"Fury."

Clint nodded.

"He was going to drag that guy in front of a trial. Destroy his reputation and send him behind bars. He had the evidence, he had testimonies. He had everything he needed." Clint shrugged. "But he got killed before he even saw the judge."

"Does his daughter know?"

"Maria probably suspects," he replied slowly. "But if she makes this public, she'll be a target too."

"So tell me then. If you cooperate, I'll probably be able to cut a deal."

Clint smiled sadly and shook his head.

"Not gonna let that happen. As long as I shut my mouth, you were safe. As long as you didn't know a thing, they had no reason to come after you. So I gave my Intel to someone else, and they carried on the plan instead of me." He let his eyes find hers and this time, she was the one that saw right through him. "You are the only thing that keeps me breathing. You and Jordy are everything I have. And I'll let the world burn if it means keeping you safe."

 _They were in her apartment when he first kissed her. Nothing much more than a light pressure of his lips against hers; Natasha wasn't even sure he had been aiming her mouth. But when he'd pulled back, he had met her eyes and she had read the question in them. Could he do it again? Could he push her further? Was he still allowed in her apartment, or banned forever?_

 _After Steve, she had thought herself immune to men, especially men whom had survived harsh experience and still carried the scars of battle within; but truth was…she wasn't immune to him. Perhaps it was the age difference that made her feel safe –he had ten solid years ahead, barely noticeable whenever he grinned fully- and a life experience Steve hadn't at the time. One moment, he could be nobody passing-by, the next, he could freeze someone with the sole intensity of his blue-grey eyes._

 _Once she nodded her approval, he had maneuvered her till she sat on his thighs; both on the couch, and his arms and hands had been everywhere. Had it been Steve, he would have waited, hadn't pressured her into anything. Clint had taken her right there, skirt pushed above her hips, shirt on the floor with her bra pulled over her breasts and mouth sucking a nipple while she scrambled onto his bare back to hold onto something. He had made her pant and beg and scream for more. She had let him seduce her that day, let him glimpse behind her barriers, had succumbed to his passion and he had made her love it._

 _Their habits didn't change much; they'd each have their job, each have their schedule, each have their life. But once in a while, they would meet, and they'd talk, have diner or go out on a date, and then they'd return to her place –she never went to his, wasn't ready to go that far –and they would end tangled in sheets, his arms wrapped around her waist, her head on his chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. Most of the time, he'd sleep on the couch if he was drunk or return to his place and she'd curl in her covers and let his scent lull her into dreamland. Until one night, after a particularly nasty twisted nightmare of her childhood with uncle Ivan and the closet and the fire, he woke her up and lavished her with soothing kisses and gentle caresses. She had pulled him down on the mattress and buried her face in his chest and ever since that night, she had never slept well without him. He made her feel cared for and she didn't want to lose that._

The memories came crashing forwards and for a momentary second, she closed her eyes. That man had given her everything: a home, a family, a solid ground to walk on, and above all, his complete devotion. She slowly lowered her gun, suddenly overwhelmed by the memories and contradictory emotions building in. The whole time, Clint hadn't moved, his eyes still fixed on her.

" _Why don't we move in together?"_

 _Natasha stared at him with unblinking eyes._

" _What?"_

 _He had been busy with his new shooting center, which included an archery range. Things were going surprisingly smoothly. After a couple of hard months, money was finally coming and he was optimistic about the whole business. Now that he had a more stable budget to rely on, he wanted to focus on the most important part of his life._

" _I stay most of the time at your place…And it's nice, it really is, but wouldn't you like something more…dunno, something that would feel more permanent?"_

 _She blinked. For a moment she stood too still, eyes wide like a deer caught in daylight. Clint frowned, wondering what he had said that would have triggered such a reaction. He knew her 'episodes', old traces of traumatic experiences of her childhood, but they never started like this._

" _Tasha?" he called cautiously. Only his military training prepared him for the unexpected action that followed._

 _She darted from her chair, nearly running to the door. But his reflexes were faster and he caught her before she could leave the living room._

" _Let me go!" she shouted, but her voice was too frenetic and shaky. Episode then, he concluded. Ignoring her plea, he pulled her against him and wrapped his arms around her so tightly she could barely move. This was a first. He kept quiet, fought against her struggles until he managed to back her against the wall, hands tightened over her wrists and full body pressed against hers to contain her._

" _Look at me in the eye," he ordered with such authority she flinched. Then, he amended on a softer but still firm tone: "Tasha, love, look at me."_

 _Natasha whimpered quietly, unwilling to face him. It took him more encouraging words to make her speak._

" _That's how it started." She said, voice spent and trembling._

" _What started?" His intonation was still gentle and inviting, even though his grip was still tight on her. He feared she would run to the woods if he released her._

" _Steve."_

 _The single word was enough to made him back off. Of all things, this name was the only thing he would ever back off from._

" _First the house," she started, eyes lost in the vague. "Then the engagement and then comes the marriage. Then, why not try for a child or two? It's the American life after all. And then when the children aren't coming, something must be wrong. So then here comes the doctor and the diagnosis and the tests, and Steve gets angsty because this isn't the life he wanted. And then he comes home later and later at night and one day a woman comes and says she's been fucking Steve for months and is pregnant." She swallowed heavily and slowly raised her eyes to meet his. As her words described shortly what she had lived with the man, Clint felt a wave of anger and protectiveness arise. He didn't have a high opinion of her ex-husband to begin with, but now he had lost every chance of growing in his esteem. "It ends with a divorce, a blameless husband and a cheated wife who couldn't give him what he wanted. I've been down that road Clint, don't make me do it again."_

 _She sounded broken and scared. At this very moment, Clint wanted nothing more but to strangle the man._

" _I don't need any of that." He said quietly. It was a half-lie. He was just like many other men; he liked the idea of sharing his life with someone, building something, getting married. Not the kids though, he could do without the kids. "I don't need white picket fences illusion." His smile vanished and this time, he spoke the truth: "I just want to be with_ you _. I don't care about the rest."_

 _Natasha swallowed and looked at him in the eye._

" _I'm not as strong as you believe I am," she eventually added, looking down. But Clint was having none of that._

 _He caught her chin and gently raised it, forcing her to meet his eyes. At first he had pegged her for one badass woman fully capable and tough enough to manage on her own. What he had discovered was a woman as broken as he was, forcing herself to patch whatever control she had over her life and move on. He hadn't thought he'd ended up_ wanting _to be there for her. He hadn't expected her to be exactly what he needed to heal himself._

" _And I'm not as nice as I pretend to be," he admitted quietly. "I think we both know what we're getting into, Tasha. You're just scared I'll leave." She didn't disagree and didn't flinch when he stepped closer. "Unfortunately for you, I'm not. You've gotten too deep under my skin for me to even consider the possibility."_

 _His hand sneaked into her hair. He held her head still and kissed her. She could have pushed him away. In spite of his words, he had given her enough space to escape if she truly wanted. Natasha didn't. Instead, she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him closer. He knew her ex-husband always asked for permission. He knew she knew that unlike him,_ he _would charge ahead as long as he was still in the race._

 _He ran his hands over her hips, undid the belt of her jeans and pushed them down before hooking a leg around his waist. Maybe this wasn't the moment or the time, but Clint had this urge to let her know he was right there, that he wasn't leaving and that she was stuck with him as long as she wanted him. So he took her against the wall, head buried in her neck, arms supporting her whole weight while she clung to his back, tears quietly running down her cheeks and panting his name over and over…_

"I can't…" she started, avoiding his eyes –it was wrong; he should be the one looking away, but he feared that if he showed a sigh of weakness, she'd make an irrational decision. And he wanted to see, to watch the moment when she made a decision about his fate. Whatever it would be, he decided, he would accept it. "I can't even…I need to think." Natasha inhaled sharply and glared at him. "Will you be gone when I return home?"

"I'll stay." He replied gently. "I'll wait."

She walked out the house and slammed the door behind her.

* * *

Her increased anger hadn't helped her concentrate. Even as Steve, Stark and she ran through possibilities and made phone calls and traced the bigger plan, her only focus was the man back home. Her colleagues tiptoed around her the whole afternoon and even Steve avoided staying in the same room too long. Talks of the investigation following Steve's lead gave her further headaches. It wasn't until her phone rang a few hours later that she stopped thinking of their situation. It was Wanda's number on the screen. Hoping dearly this wasn't a sign that Clint had eventually ran away, she picked up.

"What is it?" she asked tiredly.

" _Miss Romanoff you need to come quick!"_ The babysitter's panicked voice made her tense.

"What's going on Wanda? Where are you?"

" _I'm at the house, I just came back from a walk with Jordan and no-one was answering, so I pushed the door and –oh my god, there is so much red-"_

Natasha felt her heartbeat accelerate. Red? Blood? In her house?

"Wanda, I need you to calm down." She ordered sharply. "Tell me what's happened?"

The young woman breathed in quickly:

" _Jordan's fine. But Mister Barton…"_ this time, it was truly a sob that she heard. _"Mr. Barton's not looking good. I called an ambulance but…there's so much blood…"_

And Natasha's world stopped spinning.


	6. Chapter 6

**Blackhawks Child:** Hey, not that cruel ;)

 **Unbeta-ed work, as usual…Enjoy :)**

* * *

 **Criminal**

 **5.**

He looked so white, lying in those sheets with the beeping machines all around him. Natasha hesitantly touched his unmoving hand. It was cold, colder than she'd like. Next to her, Wanda stood in shock, eyes rived on the man's form. Ever since Natasha had arrived on the premises, the young woman had been deadly quiet. She had left her deal with the specifics, but followed them to the hospital and sat next to her close to the man's bed.

Natasha knew Wanda and Clint had history, but she hadn't realized how _deeply_ she was attached to him.

"He saved my life," the teenager suddenly said after half an hour of complete silence. "My brother and I were prisoners. We were trying to escape. He was covering the exits, but there were too many snipers. I was lucky. My brother wasn't. Mr. Barton carried his body out of that place and helped me burry him. He swore he'd help me from now on. And he held onto his word. Brought me to America, kept an eye on me, saved me from myself." Wanda paused, swallowed hard, and went on: "I never thanked him."

Natasha didn't leave her lover's body out of sight as she asked absentmindedly:

"Were you prisoners of the same human trafficking ring than Maria Fury was?"

Wanda blinked and glanced at her.

"Maria Fury?" she repeated slowly, and frowned lightly. "I'm not sure…there was plenty of people there." She swallowed. "I'd rather not-not talk about it."

The redhead nodded in understanding. Stark was right when he had said Clint deserved a fucking medal for his action. And she hadn't listened. She had doubted him. What he had done was wrong on so many levels, but at the same time…At the same time, she wished she had had someone like Clint as a child. Someone like him to rely on. He was always there for her and the one time he needed her to stand by his side, she had messed up. What had she brought him in return?

"He loves you, you know?" Wanda whispered. "He says you keep him grounded." She paused. "I'm sorry, that's not my place to say."

The clock kept ticking and eventually Wanda had to leave. Natasha had left her daughter with Stark, knowing he wouldn't leave her out of his sight until she returned. Later, when the nurses arrived to warn her visitors were to leave, she raised his lifeless hand and brought it to her cheek.

"Wake up," she whispered into his palm. "I will forgive you everything. Even if you killed all those people, it doesn't matter anymore. Just wake up, please."

The beeping machines were her only answer.

* * *

Steve found her sitting next to her lover's bed, her hand holding his. She looked exhausted and pale, worry painted all over her face. At her feet, a baby carrier contained her daughter-Jordan, fast asleep.

He evaluated her with a hint of morbid curiosity. The infant really had her mother's features, he could tell already with the curve of her cheek and the full lips. Reddish whips of hair were growing over her bald head, and her button-nose was certainly inherited from her father. Tiny hands clenched and unclenched the purple cover she was under. If he concentrated hard enough, he could almost hear her soft breathing pattern.

It hurt, Steve thought bitterly. Three years of trying for nothing. And when he thought he would finally get a family of his own with Sharon, it had only been another disappointment when the boy turned out to be another man's son.

And then, he heard his ex-wife had moved in with that arrogant asshole, and here was that beautiful little girl. He didn't know who to curse most of the time; Natasha for leaving him; Barton for taking his ex-wife from him; or himself for not trying harder. He hadn't been proud of his behavior the few months before their relationship definitively crumbled down; but had the fault been entirely his? He still remembered how closed up Natasha was becoming, how she drifted whenever he invited her to come closer. She had completely abandoned them a long time while he was still trying. Had she stayed…the thought stuck in his guts like an unwelcomed bug- that little girl would have been his.

"What are you doing here?" Natasha suddenly asked, and Steve was struck by how worn out, how defeated and angry it sounded.

"How is he?" he asked in turn. Natasha didn't tear her eyes away from Barton's unmoving face so he still couldn't see her face, but he did notice that her shoulders tensed further.

"What is it to you?" she shot back dryly but quietly, probably not to wake up her daughter. "You'd rather have him buried to the ground than holding on to his life in that bed."

"There's a difference between wishing something and seeing it happen," he replied calmly, although he couldn't deny not having Barton in his live would render it a lot, _lot_ easier. Still, he wouldn't wish being beaten to death in his own living room upon anyone. The work sounded too much like a professional job to be just a burglary turned wrong, like the officers had written it off. When she didn't react to his words, he added, figuring he might as well go to the point. "I came here to see if this could be related to the case. Did you two ever speak of it?"

This time when she turned around and stared at him, Steve nearly wished she hadn't. Red, dry eyes set on him with a deadly calm and her hands were clenching and unclenching, as if wondering if she should rip his throat or make him eat his own tongue first. She stood up and took a step forward, which made him take one backwards.

"No, he had nothing to say about your precious case because we don't discuss professional at home." She spat bitterly and returned to her lover's side.

At first, Steve wanted to insist. She had gone home for lunch, had return early in the afternoon and the call had come barely hours later. They just had figured out a theory. And her protests sounded too forced and angry to be honest. The Natasha he knew would have never dared lie to him and had he pushed, she would have given in eventually. But this Natasha was far different. She looked ready to pounce on him and tear him to bits if he dared suggesting she was wrong. He was about to push his interrogation when the baby girl sniffed and whined.

The woman's attention immediately shifted on her daughter, anger and aggressiveness switching to gentle and cooing. He watched as she crouched next to the crib and pulled out the baby to hold her against her chest. Jordan calmed down nearly immediately, her hands clutching at the collar of Natasha's shirt. The woman pressed a kiss to her daughter's temple, still whispering in her ear. As she turned around, she gave Steve another harsh glare. The man knew he should retreat; but he wasn't ready to leave it there yet.

"Why are you so…loyal to him?" he demanded. Natasha glanced back at the immobile form on the hospital bed, her daughter still 'uh-ing' contently in her arms.

"Have you ever been with someone who made you wonder what had you done to deserve to be so…at peace?" she asked quietly. "Clint had been my rock from the moment I met him." She absentmindedly shifted her daughter in one arm so she could run a hand through his growing hair. "He respects me. He cares for me." Pause. She swallowed heavily. "During a field mission, I was hit in the chest. I nearly didn't survive. The doctor told me that Clint nearly strangled the surgeon. The guy had given up on me and had a golf meeting later that day with some senator. Clint called a friend of his who worked in that same hospital and made him take over. _That_ guy managed to bring me back. The surgeon was suspended." For a brief moment, she glanced at Steve. "Without Clint, I wouldn't even be standing here."

She returned her attention on her lover.

"I was out for a full week after the operation. He never left my side. And when I woke up, he was sleeping on the chair, holding my hand." she smiled slightly. "That idiot nearly lost his business because of me." Natasha stopped her petting and slowly caressed his cheek. "I think one of the reasons why we make love so often is because he needs to feel me alive. I know when he'll wake up…" she paused and sighed. "Actually, that's none of your business. Go away, Rogers. I won't ask you again. Leave him out of this, _leave us out of this_." Her voice darkened and strengthened as she met his eyes with a knowing glint and added in a deadly calm tone: "Just leave and let us be. Or I won't be held responsible for my actions."

* * *

 _Clint was staring with that expression, grave and wondering and awed at the same time. He always eyed her so when she puzzled him. She glared at him._

" _So what, no excuses?" she snapped dryly, crossing her arms. She was wearing her black suit and had her hair tied back in a tight bun. He looked comfortably dressed in his black jeans and reddish Tee. His hair was messy, his eyes slightly tired, his chin scruffy with growing hairs. He was halfway sitting on some dark stone, shoulders slumped down and head leaning forward. She hated and loved him when he stood that way; innocent and playful at the same time._

" _There's not much I can say anymore," he replied with a shrug in his deep voice, intense eyes never leaving her. Even though she was pissed at him, he still made her shiver by just watching. "Maybe just, that I'm not mad at you."_

 _Natasha felt her body tense. Mad at her?_ He _should be mad at_ her _? She's the one whose world was turned around!_

" _You're one-" words left her as she couldn't find a proper formulation. All he did was grin slightly._

" _You're gorgeous when you're angry, have I ever told you?" Fucking grin, fucking eyes, fucking him. He drove her crazy with little nothings. She was supposed to be angry, not flattered. He became more serious: "I don't blame you Tasha. This wasn't your fault. I should have talked to you about this from the start."_

 _This time, Natasha definitively felt confused._

" _What are you talking about?"_

 _Clint shrugged again._

" _Our last conversation didn't end well." He said slowly. "I wish it had, but life always have the last word."_

 _He rose from his seat. Now, she could see the light grey stone he had been leaning against._

" _Is this a joke?" she asked, suddenly very still._

 _Clint moved to stand by her side and glanced at what she was watching. He snorted next to her._

" _Guess I was expecting a monument, something grander, you know. But in my place, ya can't be real choosey. The bow is a nice touch though." He added and crouched to brush the top of the tombstone. "I like it."_

" _Clint-"_

 _He rose again to face her. This time, his smile was sad._

" _Take care Tasha. I love you, don't you forget that, kay? And keep an eye on Jodie for me."_

" _Clint-" she tried again but couldn't keep going on. Not with a grave with the name of her lover on it, when he stood right by her side._

 _Until he wasn't._

 _And when she looked around, she was alone._

Natasha woke up with a start. The first thing she noted was that she wasn't in her bed, but in the nursery, lying next to Jordan's crib. She glanced around, heart beating hard against her ribcage. Everything was dark and quiet, even though the curtains hadn't been drawn. The alarm next on the drawer indicated three in the morning. She slowly rose and stood on her feet. Unsteady. The fear and uncertainty kept plaguing her as she slowly remembered last days' events. She and Clint had a fight. Clint had hidden some important things from her. She had sworn she'd think things over during the day, but then Wanda called and…

She swallowed heavily, remembering why she remained in the nursery in the first place. It was just a dream, she repeated to herself. It's okay, he's still alive. Barely, but still alive. And still…she couldn't return to their room. Not yet. Not without him.

Natasha slowly rose from the floor, wincing as a slight pain crossed her back. That was what she'd earn for sleeping on the ground. She picked up her phone and checked for any missed call. Nothing from doctor Banner, which could only mean Clint was still under. She couldn't decide whether it was a good or a bad thing. Next to her, Jordan suddenly decided she needed attention and made a small noise. Natasha picked up her daughter and held her close to her chest. She then went to the living room and sat on the couch, moving the baby into a more comfortable position.

Natasha realized that feeling Jordan's light weight pressed against her neck felt…comforting. The baby smell, the soft skin, the content 'muh' and 'uh' she made nearly brought her to tears. Clint had been trying to get her to speak lately and had assured her he was making progress. The woman wasn't sure Jordan understood what her father was trying to make her do, but some sounds did resemble words and would thrill her lover. For a man who hadn't wanted to become a father, he had fallen into the role very fast.

Her phone rang, immediately upsetting the baby, but Natasha ran to pick up.

"Hi, Miss Romanoff?"

Bruce Banner, Barton's medic, also the man who had once brought her back to life. The redhead closed her eyes and inhaled sharply. She had made the doctor swear he would call should anything happen to Clint in her absence.

"Tell me," she urged.

"His vitals are stable." Banner paused, hesitating, but Natasha was done and made a strange, inhuman growl, to which he hurried to add: "He's waking up."

* * *

The return home was tense and quiet. Natasha didn't say a word the whole drive and kept her eyes on the road. Clint didn't try to speak, knowing that she needed to gather her thoughts. A couple weeks had gone by, during which he had needed to go through light physical therapy and a lot of rest. This wasn't unfamiliar to him; during his tour in various dangerous places under Fury's commands, he had been in various stages of hurt in the hospital. The main difference was the redhead's occasional presence by his side.

He had heard from the nurses that she had stood vigil the whole time he had been unconscious. Yet, now that he was awake, Natasha was barely speaking to him. Clint had no doubt she was still pissed at him. Heck, _he_ had been pissed at her each time she had hurt herself on a mission. But he usually tried to _talk_ to her. He didn't dare ask though, because she had a lot of reasons to be angry, and he didn't want to trigger another episode if he could avoid it.

It wasn't until they were home that she ordered him to sit and not move. Clint had obeyed, watching her move around the house, prepare lunch –spaghettis, what else –nurse Jordan, and in short ignore him. He watched her tired body language, her tired eyes, and the slight slowness in her movements. He still had the pleasure to change Jordan –and boy was he sincere since he thought he'd never change his little girl's nappy again –and keep her entertained until she was ready to sleep. There again, he was left alone for a moment.

When she returned, Natasha was ready for bed. She had changed into his T-shirt and boxers, hair loose over her shoulders, eyes far too bright to be indifferent.

"Am I supposed to take the couch?" he asked halfway joking. He would stay there if she asked him to.

But she motioned him to stand up, stepped into his personal space, wrapped her arms around him and hid her face in his chest. And remained there unmoving, for a long time.

He didn't dare breathe, didn't dare move, fearing that one sound might break the moment. Her shoulders started trembling and her grip tightened, so he tentatively, nearly cautiously, held her in turn. Natasha was so small, he realized. She always stood so strong and determined, he sometimes forgot she could be breakable. She was human too, and the past week had played with her limits. That she was allowing herself to show any type of weakness to him, even after what he'd done, impressed him…and made him fall in love all over again.

When she pulled back, he swallowed heavily and looked at her in the eyes. Her beautiful, wary, tired eyes. And he hated himself for being the cause of it.

"Let's go to bed," she said. He followed obediently.


	7. Chapter 7

**Blackhawks Child:** told ya :)

 **Last chapter before the epilogue :) all mistakes are mine ^^**

* * *

 **Criminal**

 **6.**

Even though he had built half of the room, Clint felt like a stranger when he crossed the threshold. The pale purple of the walls were unfamiliar, the red sheets seemed untouched and messy. Natasha helped him change into his pyjama, keeping physical contact to a minimum again. It wasn't until he slipped under the covers that she sought his presence again. This time, she rolled and snuggled him, head leaning on his good shoulder. Clint knew he shouldn't expect her to let them fall back into a routine, but he should have also expected her to surprise him.

"Clint." Her voice was soft and demanding at the same time. He replied with a quiet 'uh' and waited. Her hand caressed his chest gently, fingers caressing the rumple of his muscles under his shirt. "Tell me. Everything. Please."

He tensed slightly at her request.

"I need to understand," she went on quietly. "Why did you…sacrifice…nearly everything for this. Please Clint, I need to know."

He had to close his eyes a moment. When he had made up his mind and had gone after her, he had promised himself he would hide nothing from this woman he had fallen for, that he'd answer with blunt honesty at whenever she would ask. He knew there was a day where he might need to talk about his past and risk everything they had build. He briefly considered lying and making up a convincing story.

But he remembered he had courted her in spite of everything because a small part of him wanted her to know, to listen, and to accept that part of him. So he inhaled deeply and started talking.

* * *

Morning came faster than Natasha expected. She hadn't slept a wink, her hand running through Clint's thick hair the whole time, as his sleeping face was stuck against her breast. She listened to his soft snores, reeled in the warmth of his body wrapped around hers. She'd nearly lost him for good, and while she told herself she wouldn't let her feelings and personal relationship with him cloud her judgment…

Natasha swallowed heavily. Clint had, as she had asked, confessed every single detail of his time in the army. More specifically; under Pierce and Fury's later lead. He had whispered the crimes he had committed back to New York, told her how he had proceeded, how he had acted and decided to where the shooting would occur and other details she hadn't thought of investigating.

It wasn't until the clock hit three that exhaustion took over and he had let himself fall asleep, still mumbling, but this time drifting on their encounter and his first impression on her. She had tried not to feel flattered by the way he described her, how intrigued and then attracted he felt by this rookie cop who just couldn't let go, and much later how he realized that no matter what, she was probably the only person he would ever kill for.

' _Worth the risk', he whispered, pressing a soft kiss against her collarbone. 'You were worth me being caught. I couldn't let that bastard hurt you, not after everything you've done.'_

He had relaxed immediately after, like a man who had confessed all his sins and would drift to a content sleep afterwards. And Natasha hadn't closed her eyes.

The things he had admitted doing could put him behind bars for years if she decided to turn him in. If. She wasn't sure yet.

A couple of years ago, when she just started to know him, it might have been easier to let her ideals of justice take over and drag him to the closest police station. But after two years of full commitment and a baby sleeping in the nursery, after rebuilding herself with his help and relying on him all this time…she couldn't. It would have been so easier if Clint had been a cheating bastard like Steve was, but no, he had to be even worse. He was a murderer who believed her to be the best thing in the universe and entirely devoted to her and their daughter.

She closed her eyes and inhaled sharply to restrain the sudden emergence of tears. That wasn't what actually tore her from the inside. He loved her, yes, but even psychopath could love in their own ways. No, what scared her most was that she truly, genuinely loved him too. The weeks he had spent in the hospital, the belief he might never wake up had nearly undone her. She remembered the dark hours she had spent by his bedside, wondering how long she'd hold on if he passed away; wondering if her daughter would be enough to make her carry on.

Clint stirred slightly, informing her he was awaking. She took an impulsive decision.

She gently rolled him on his back and straddled his hips. According to the doctor, he was in perfect condition to perform intercourse as long as he didn't push too hard on his ribs. So she slowly leaned forwards and, when she was sure he was aware enough, kissed him.

"Tasha?" he asked when they parted. She ignored him and kept kissing his throat, then headed down, over his chest, taunt stomach, trailing lower till she reached the waistband of his boxers. He was half-hard already. Natasha glanced up and saw her lover watching her with a mix of confusion and desire. That was enough for her. She pulled his boxers down enough and took him in her mouth.

Clint repeated her name, hissing this time, but made no move to stop her. Good. She kept sucking and touching him till he got completely hard, and only then she released him and climbed over his hips to lower herself on him. The familiarity of the act returned smoothly and for a while, she allowed herself to forget their situation, to savor his touch and reel in the pleasure he could give her with little effort. And when he came, she followed, her head thrown back and biting her lower lip to prevent herself from moaning too loud. This time, she curled against him, back to their old position in their old times. His arms went around her waist and hand over her hip. He was warm and breathless and _alive_.

"I want to stay like this forever," she whispered against his skin. No decision to make, no justice to worry about, no rights or wrongs, just her lover and her daughter in their house. Maybe she should invest in a dog or a cat.

"Have you taken a decision yet?" Clint asked quietly. His hands were running over her cooling shoulder. Natasha closed her eyes and relaxed under his touch further more.

"You never killed innocents," she muttered then shifted and hoisted herself on her forearm to face him. "But if you ever, _ever_ take up a gun and go on a rampage again, then I will take measures to end you. Are we clear?"

She was deadly serious, and she could tell Clint knew.

"And I won't stop you." He promised, implicitly agreeing to her deal. His fingers caressed her cheeks. "Thank you."

Natasha pressed her lips against his to shut him up. She didn't want to hear what he had to say right now; she wasn't ready to deal with it. Clint seemed to understand and let it go. The conversation would probably end another day, but for now, she was content to let it lie there.

* * *

Alexander Pierce was not a happy man. First, his unofficial business had been crumbling down. Second, the last man who ever had evidence against him on said unofficial business matters had survived the hit. Third, he had woken up in the middle of the night with a headache and tied to a chair with no means to move.

And three people were surrounding him.

In spite of the lights off, he recognized Maria Fury immediately, her thin and athletic figure standing out in the shadows. Sam Wilson wasn't quite a surprise either, he had always been the most laid-back of the team, but the first to jump into action –no wonder why he had helped Barton set the explosive in the base back then. The last person, he didn't recognize immediately. She was a medium-height, brown haired young woman wearing a long red coat. And then it hit him –she was Barton's babysitter, an escapee from the slaves he had saved along with Maria.

"My, my." He said with a satisfied smirk. "I guess Barton was involved in these shenanigans in the end." None of the three moved. "I assure you whatever that man had told you on me, they are all lies."

"You killed my brother," the red-coat woman said quietly

"You ordered Barbara Morse's death," Wilson added, and even without seeing his face, Pierce could read the anger in his eyes.

"You attempted killing Clint Barton when you realized he had evidence of your business off human trafficking." Maria concluded.

"I would expect you to blame me for your father's death, which I had nothing to do with," he commented.

"I was coming to that. Fury and Barton weren't the only ones keeping files on you. We actually have all the evidence of your deeds." Maria went on calmly. "We found the guy who sabotaged his car. And let me tell you, you shouldn't have let Garrett choose his men, or rather, he should have chosen them more wisely. One of the members of the Hydra gang you hired to kill Barton was more than eager to give us all the details." A cheerless grin grew over her face. "Rest assured, their current hideout is being turned upside down by the data we anonymously sent to Stark right now."

Pierce immediately wondered who might have betrayed him. Garrett had made sure the men he had hired had enough experience in the criminal side. None of them would have talked, he knew it. Except maybe…no, it couldn't have been Ward. Ward was the only one he doubted about, but he had been beaten to death before the attack…hadn't he?

"I find it hard to believe, since I am as clean as a sheet." He eventually said. They couldn't have evidence. Only Fury had everything he needed. And he had sent Barton's safe container to destruction a few months back. He had made sure to trace and check each and every hideout he could find on the two men.

"You mean a sheet that hadn't gone through the laundry yet?" a new voice intervened.

The man had been so focused on what he could distinguish in the shadow in front of him that he hadn't thought of checking his back. Another uninvited guest stepped out of the background and stood into his view. Piece widened his eyes in shock as he recognized the newcomer.

" _You_?" he sputtered. "But I –"

"You thought I was just a puppet?" the man finished the sentence. Pierce was still too stunned to do anything else but nod. "Well, I have to admit you covered your tracts beautifully, but even I am not that stupid."

Right there, right then, Pierce knew this night was his last.

"So you are going to kill me?" he snorted with a confidence he didn't quite feel. "And then what? People will be investigating this; they will find out the truth."

"The people investigating the case will guess your disappearance wasn't a coincidence. But when the deaths will end, this case will be remained unclosed. Don't even expect Stark or Romanoff to pursue it, especially when they will realize you were the last on the list." The man grew a shark-like smirk on his face. "Stark has a twisted sense of justice. If anything, you ensured that no-one will look very hard for your killer by attacking Romanoff's lover." He stepped closer. "Your business was well-built, I'll admit that. By threatening the right people, you could have hushed the one guy who actually had evidence against you. But you made one fatal mistake. You assassinated the one person _**I**_ cared for above everyone else."

Pierce swallowed heavily.

"And who might that be?"

"Take a guess." The man retorted, pulling a vial from his pocket. In the background, Maria held a glass of whiskey in her gloved hand and left it on his table in full view.

"You are a well-known fine alcohol drinker and you admire roman culture. Suicide by poison will suit you."

Pierce tried to struggle as Wanda and Sam held his jaw open. The last man then pulled a rather large syringe and pushed enough for a few drops to go down his throat. The man forced himself to cough, but the two forced his mouth shut and waited. Pierce grew hot and warm and started sweating. The poison slowly acted in his veins and suffocated him. The last picture he saw was the face of the last man he had expected to figure him out.

When Pierce finally stopped moving, everyone exchanged glances.

"Is he dead?" Wanda asked quietly, hovering over the body with narrowed eyebrows. The man bent next to the body and pressed his fingertip against the neck to take the pulse.

"Nothing," he replied, confirming the death much to everyone's relief. "Let's set the rest."

"Mind giving me a hand with the pipes and gas Maximoff?" Maria asked her companion. Wanda nodded and followed her to the basement.

Wilson and the other man remained behind to untie the body and move it in a sitting position on the couch. As they lifted Pierce to arrange him in a more natural position, the man huffed at the other:

"You said you'd only have Ward _fake_ a beating to death to keep him clear of suspicions."

"He might have executed Garrett, but he still had a hand in killing Morse. And _she_ was helping Fury working up a case against Pierce. I only gave him a few well-earned punches to make stuff more realistic. The rest was the drugs' work. And don't sweat, he'll live." was the man's guiltless reply. Then he added: "You're the hypocrite one. You downright killed the Rumlow and Sitwell when you heard they were the ones behind the 'accidental drop' of your friend."

"Don't be cute." The other one said.

They didn't speak till they ended their work. They waited until the two girls had return to leave. The girls had opened a gas van and set a small detonator for explosion. Wilson was in charge of making the whole house burn since he was the explosive expert. They drove away and reached a faraway hillside to watch the house explode into pieces. The result gave a large and high flame, but Pierce's house was isolated from his neighbors' and the man had ingurgitated enough poison to kill an elephant. His survival was a hundred percent none.

The show over, they parted ways. Wilson was in charge of driving Maria home while Wanda was to be dropped back by the mastermind.

"You know, you could have stopped Barton from being beaten up if you had warned him in time." Wanda said reproachfully.

The man shrugged.

"I did give him a warning. I called him the very morning before Hydra came to his house, told him he might soon be targeted. But he chose to ignore it."

"How can I believe that?"

"He asked you to pick up his daughter earlier than usual. He wanted to be alone in the house when the hit would happen. He knew that Pierce would go after Natasha or their daughter if he escaped. That guy had an admirable sense of self-sacrifice," The man huffed. "Maybe in another life, we could have been friends."

"He dislikes you because you treated your wife like shit, and you hate him because he made her happy. You were driven against Pierce because he assassinated your precious Bucky. Barton was after Pierce because that asshole controlled a human traffic ring. Unlike you, I don't blame him for delegating to protect the people he loves, because _his_ actions were spurred by a sense of justice. Yours are just revenge for one man," Wanda shrugged then glared at him harshly. "So no, you two could have never been friends."

Steve Rogers shook his head.

"I think you idolize him a bit. Barton is just a man with his secrets. But don't worry, I'll put up an act, close this farce of a case and quit the FBI. As you nicely put it, I only entered this agency because I wanted to find out who killed my best friend."

Wanda shrugged and the rest of the drive was spent in silence. Twenty minutes later, she pointed a spot at the corner of the street.

"Drop me there please. And I hope to never see you again."

"Likewise."

The young woman stepped out of the car, muttered something under her breath and slapped the door closed. Steve waited until she had entered her house to take off, already planning a reasonable course of action to take for the next day.

* * *

 **I chose 'Criminal' as the title because I was listening to that song when I had the idea. (Criminal of Britney Spears). Thought it might fit :)**


	8. Chapter 8

**Here goes the epilogue...Thanks to those who read and reviewed, I had fun writing this side piece ^^**

 **Until next time!**

* * *

 **Criminal –Epilogue**

 **One year ago**

 _Knock knock_

"Come in," Clint said absentmindedly, frowning at the paperwork lying before him. His business was finally stable and taking off. The damages done for his absence by remaining at Natasha's side had finally been balanced now he could afford to rest. Well, once he was done with this tax paper, he could relax.

"I spent a lot of time tracking you, and when I found out who Hawkeye was, I couldn't believe it was you."

Clint blinked in surprise and glanced up. A tall man dressed in sweatpants and brown jacket with a cap over his head was staring down at him. Clint thought he had recognized the voice, but was started to see that particular man standing in front of him. He could only think of one reason, though if Natasha was actually it, he would gladly burst the man's balls.

"What do you want Rogers?" he asked icily, returning his attention on the paperwork.

In that attire, the infamous Captain America was unrecognizable. Whatever he wanted, he wanted to be discreet, and for that Clint was grateful. He didn't want to cause commotion among his students if the man was to be recognized. Some of his students belonged to a younger generation and weren't quite educated in the army matter…but as for the others…

"I know you blew up the facility in Iran when you were under Pierce's command," Rogers said. "I know Morse, you and Fury were working together to take Pierce down." Pause. "And I know you and Sam bombed the human traffic ring back in Iran and that's the reason why Fury took you in."

The former archer frowned deeper. Only he and Sam really knew what had happened that night, and the other man had vowed to never tell a soul.

"I'm not sure what you're talking about," he said. Rogers's jaw tightened in annoyance but he went on:

"Look, I know Sam, I worked with him for months with the strike team after your reassignment. He trusts me, he told me about the bombing." A long pause ensued. "He also told me you were going after Pierce, but you stopped after you started dating _my_ ex-wife." _There_ , Clint could hear his irk, and smirked in return. Rogers's face turned a shade red, eyes narrowed and body tensed like a bowstring. But he swallowed his anger and went on: "I have a personal interest in this." Clint crossed his arms and waited. Rogers sighed in reluctance and added: "Pierce ordered the death of a childhood friend of mine. I want to get back at him. By any means possible."

The archer snorted and stood up to close the door of his office. Kate was out there, she could supervise a few students for ten minutes.

"Y'know what?" he said as he turned around to face the blonde. Clint was smaller in height so had to raise his eyes to meet Rogers', but he did so knowing he had information Rogers was after. "I'm tempted to believe you because I am pretty sure I'd be the very last person you'd ask this kind of stuff. But I'm not an idiot either." He narrowed his eyes. "You barge in, demand something I may or may not have, something that cost Fury's life. Given our…history, I have no reason to trust you."

Steve seemed to relax slightly.

"Sam told me you would be hard to convince, but believe me when I say this: Bucky was my best friend, nearly my brother. And he got killed for the same reasons you nearly did," Steve stared hard into his eyes, as if he wanted to convey a message. "I know I can't sue that man legally; even I would have no chance in a fair trial. I want to destroy Pierce, and I want to see the realization in his eyes when I do it."

Clint sighed and rubbed his eyelids tiredly. He had put the evidence aside until Maria was old enough to prosecute on her own, but given how Fury had ended, he doubted she would take the official channels to prosecute him. Had Pierce'd identity been a certitude years ago, he would have just gone to the man's house, shot an arrow through his throat and be done with it. But he didn't want to put Natasha in danger, especially since she was pregnant. And he had Wanda to consider.

"I'll think about it," he replied. He picked up a dart and let it spin between his fingers: "Just remember I was there when you abandoned your team to go after the terrorists on your own; and without me, _they_ would have died."

Rogers' face darkened at the mention of the action that had rendered him famous. Him putting down five high-profiled terrorists his unit was trying to get for weeks…yet at the same time, he could have been martial courted had he failed or had 'Hawkeye' not been there to rescue his teammates. Clint's fingers stopped flipping the dart around and sent it carelessly fly against the wall. If nearly grazed Rogers' cheek in its course, well…coincidences happened, right?

"Oh, and it goes without saying," Clint added carelessly but with a clear warning in his eyes. "If I see you upset Tasha or even hurt her, you'll never see the arrow that'll kill you."

Rogers' jaw tightened again, but he didn't take the bait.

"Natasha is not my priority right now," he replied sternly, to which Clint was sorely tempted to punch him: that was exactly why their marriage hadn't worked out. "I have other stuff to deal with. Just let me know whenever you've made up your mind."

Clint grunted and nodded towards the door. Rogers stormed out, not slamming the door behind but nearly. The archer returned behind his desk but his head wasn't into paperwork anymore. He hadn't wanted to abandon his pet project at first, but Natasha's arrival in his life had shifted _his_ priorities. He closed his eyes and swallowed heavily. Could Steve Rogers of all people continue what he had started? Could Wanda and Maria work along with him? He had no doubts the teenagers would demand to be involved if the case was to be reopened in whatever way, no matter the risks, and he would tell them, he had promised…but Steve Rogers, really?

His phone rang again, this time Natasha calling to ask for some random groceries to pick up on the way from work. Clint smiled softly as he listened to her rant about her urge to drink some fancy orange juice. No, he had no regrets keeping quiet, if it meant his lover was safe. But if Rogers was so keen on taking over…maybe he should really think about it.

 **Present day**

Natasha held Jordan against her chest as she slept peacefully. She ran a hand over her daughter's back, just enjoying her presence and the quietness of the moment. Clint entered the room, hair in a mess, blue jeans and tight white shirt –her secretly favorite clothing. Her thoughts were momentarily interrupted as she checked him out, Jordan being the only thing that held her back from standing up and jumping him. She hadn't been wrong when she told Steve their intense lovemaking was probably due to the stress in their respective lives, and the fear of losing the other. The only moments she'd forget she had nearly lost him were when he'd buck his hips underneath her and cut her breath. Now she understood why Clint had been all over her after that bullet wound.

The couch dipped where he sat. He ran a gentle finger over his daughter's arm.

"Can I have her for a moment?"

"Yeah, here," she handed the baby over. "Do you mind if I put the news on?"

Clint made that wave meaning 'suit yourself' and she switched the TV on. Just in time for the National broadcast. She listened as the journalist in charge read out the headlines and frowned at one particular announcement.

"Alexander Pierce died in an explosion?" Natasha said, raising an eyebrow. "A faulty gas pipe? Are you kidding me?"

Clint snorted, but she could see the satisfaction in his eyes. The very morning, she had run into Maria Fury in the supermarket, and the young woman had looked positively gleaming. Now she understood why.

"I have nothing to do with this," Clint said casually. "All I gave away was evidence. I let…" his voice trailed off and he went on casually. "The others took care of the rest."

Natasha stared sideways at him but returned part of her attention on the TV.

"Steve said he wanted me back." She confessed. "When we were in the car, he just blurted that. I laughed at his nose."

"Serves him right," Clint hissed, narrowing his eyes. "The more I hear from him, the less I like him."

Now that was something Natasha didn't quite get. Even if she was the first willing to speak of him as a douchbag, she had rarely ever met a man voluntarily spit on him. And she knew that whatever had made him dislike her ex-husband so much had occurred before their meeting.

"Why? What happened?"

The man growled:

"He used his charisma to get to his end, you know. The whole 'Captain America' thing, maybe he believed in it, but he still took the name to get himself out of sticky situations. I just don't like people who can't take responsibilities for their wrongs…" he sighed. "It doesn't really matter anymore."

She watched him intensely.

"I know it was Steve; the guy who gathered the information from you and carried out your plan."

Clint stared at her, the same way he had when she had explained her previous suspicions on him being the archer. The same way he looked at her when he knew she was right, but not ready to admit it.

"When you told me you'd let the world burn for us," she went on. "I remembered Steve had said the same for his friend, Bucky. Bucky was under Pierce's orders. And he was Steve's _everything_. I suppose Steve would have voluntarily joined the strike team to figure out what happened." she shook her head. "He always has this knack of wanting to _know_ , especially if Barnes was concerned. And if Stark had trouble fishing out information from official documents…then Steve would have decided to investigate on his side." At Clint's stunned expression, she added with a half-smiled: "I was married to the man, remember? And I'm an FBI agent. I'm trained to think along those lines."

"You are the most fucking gorgeous woman I've ever met," was Clint's reply, staring with awe and reverence at her. Natasha felt her cheeks redden and returned her attention on the broadcast.

She didn't mention that she also had that feeling that had Clint not survived, Steve would have used Stark's findings to pin the blame on her lover. She didn't mention that she had a feeling he might have done it regardless, if only to clear suspicions from him, or even to conquer her back. The warning she had given him at the emergency room had been genuine. Had he destroyed Clint's life, she would have _torn_ his into pieces and handed him the rope for a proper hanging.

After a few moments, Clint's hand slipped over her thigh and squeezed her gently. Natasha swallowed heavily, her body already reacting to the simple contact. From the corner of the eye, she watched her lover hum quietly to their baby. Jordan's body was flat against his chest, head tucked under his chin, big blue eyes staring unblinkingly at her. She winked at her daughter. Jordan grinned happily and laughed.

Natasha chuckled and leaned on the side to rest her head against Clint. He shifted into a more comfortable position, extended his arm to wrap it around her shoulder.

"Now, there are my two girls," he said, before quietly adding: "Thank you Tasha."

She rested her hand on Jordan's back and rubbed it gently. The baby blinked, the repetitive soothing movements encouraging her to fall asleep. Natasha glanced between Clint and her child, revisiting briefly each decision she had made in the past month. Her silence upon the last case, the consequences should anything come to light, the satisfied glint in Maria Hill's eye when she had come across her…and the little girl blinking at her lazily, who would grow with both parents around. Natasha swallowed heavily; maybe this was why she and Stark got along so well; maybe her sense of justice was a bit twisted too.

"You are what keep me breathing too," she whispered in return, and felt his hand squeeze her shoulder in response.


End file.
